


I Will Follow You Into The Dark

by megzseattle



Series: The Serpent and The Seagull [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage, Sacrifices, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Image bygoodomensficrecommendationson tumblrThe boys finally get around to planning the big day. Not everything goes as expected. Does it ever?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Serpent and The Seagull [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412167
Comments: 448
Kudos: 376





	1. The Wedding Planner

**Author's Note:**

> Named for the Deathcab for Cutie song. (I reserve the right to change the title on this later! This is going to be a long one!)
> 
> And since we took a little detour through flufftober, as a reminder, when we last saw the boys, they had just gotten through the big fight and separation of Tell Me Lies. Track back three works if you need a quick refresher!
> 
> Also many thanks to Zeckarin who has read many drafts of most of these chapters and listened to me freak out as I’ve been stretching on something a little more ambitious than what I usually write. 💖  
.  
.  
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Winter gradually blew over and little peeks of tepid sunlight began to break through the solid London gloom of the grayer months, and as the city began to come back to life, so did Crowley and Frederick. They had become more and more reclusive and incommunicative as the snow and the cold deepened, often sleeping for weeks at a time. Aziraphale was relieved to find them spending less time curled up fast asleep in front of the fire grate – charming as it was to see them together, it got a little dull when one’s companions were constantly unconscious. 

Did snakes usually hibernate? He wondered. He hadn’t thought so, but these two could change anyone’s mind on that. 

And then one day, at the end of February, he came into the back room and was surprised to find them both sitting up on the couch, looking alert and happy. 

“Morning, Aziraphale!” Crowley said, and Frederick even deigned to lift his head up in greeting. “Now that was a good nap! What day is it anyways?”

The angel smiled. “It’s exactly two weeks since the last time you asked me, dear,” he said. He didn’t truly mind; he got a lot of reading done in the winter.

Crowley stretched and got up. “Freddy’s hungry, by the way,” he said, handing the snake to Aziraphale as he went off to have a shower and a change of clothes. 

“Are you hungry, little friend?” Aziraphale said, lifting the snake to eye level and examining him. 

YES YES YES I’M PRACTICALLY WASTING AWAY HERE, CAN’T YOU TELL? Frederick shrieked. He also thought for a moment and then tried the trick Crowley had been trying to teach him where you move your head up and down in a vertical fashion to indicate your agreement with something. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale cooed, delighted. “Look at you, communicating! Was that on purpose, you clever snake?”

ANGELS ARE SO DUMB, Frederick thought in disgust, but he patiently repeated the gesture a few more times, looking the angel dead in the eye. 

“Well then,” Aziraphale said, quite pleased. “Let’s get you some dinner.” 

They went off to the kitchen, where the angel first poured him a platter of tea (the snake had become especially fond of oolong), and then thawed him a mousicle in the microwave. He placed Frederick in a basket on the tabletop and let him set about a long, slow swallow of his treat. 

++

Crowley arrived a little later, hair freshly washed and a new black shirt half-unbuttoned down his chest. The angel took one look at his disheveled state and swallowed hard. 

“Do you know what I was thinking in the shower, angel?” the demon said. 

“Wha-huh?” Aziraphale murmured, distracted. 

“Ahem,” Crowley said, mock stern. “My eyes are up HERE, angel.” 

Aziraphale blushed and pulled his gaze up to Crowley’s face. “Well you’re the one walking around half undressed.”

“Anyhoo,” Crowley continued, “I was thinking that perhaps it’s time for us to get around to actually getting married.” 

That got the angel’s attention. It was true, they’d been engaged now for ages and hadn’t really done much to move the process along. It was hard, as immortal beings, to feel like schedules and timelines were anything particularly urgent, but he had to admit he loved the idea of actually having the wedding and making this official. 

“Angel?” Crowley butted in. “Input? Don’t tell me you’re having second –”

“No!” Aziraphale cut in. “Of course not! I was just thinking that that sounds delightful! Let’s get started. Did you have a date in mind?”

“I do, actually,” Crowley said. “It’s kind of an unusual reason, but I thought it might be a nice symbol.” 

“Well? What is it?”

Crowley explained it, and Aziraphale had to admit, it was perfect. 

++

Crowley, amusingly, was turning out to be quite the dynamo of wedding planning. 

“I’ve been reading up,” Crowley said that afternoon, “and according to the major web sites, the first thing we need to do is decide on our wedding’s style.” 

“Style?” Aziraphale said. “You mean like a theme?”

“No, like a mood.” He pulled up his phone and flipped through a few pages. “Like are we boho? NO.” He swiped again. “Modern? Not really.” Swipe. “Victorian? Well _you_ are, that’s for sure.” Swipe. “Don’t they have anything in here for ‘ancient ethereal entities’?” 

“Why do we have to have a mood, dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Because it’s a wedding,” Crowley said imperiously, “and that’s what we do. C’mon angel, August 13th isn’t all that far away.” 

“It’s six months.”

“Six months is NOTHING!” Crowley shrieked. “We have to get busy.”

Oh dear, Aziraphale thought. This could be interesting. 

“You know what we need?” Crowley said suddenly. “Magazines. Come on, angel, get your coat, we’re going out.” 

Aziraphale, fearing slightly for his life if he resisted, complied. 

++

Twenty minutes later they were lounged in the magazine section of a chain bookstore, a thought which made Aziraphale shudder, looking through wedding magazines. Aziraphale stood primly, hands behind his back, squinting at the various titles and article teasers, while Crowley sprawled on the floor like a delinquent teen with at least thirty five magazines piled on his lap. 

“This one stays here,” he said with disgust, tossing one magazine sloppily to his left. “This one looks promising,” he said, putting another one more carefully on his right. 

Aziraphale tutted and picked up the rejected periodical, smoothing out its wrinkled pages with a little celestial energy and carefully placing it back on the shelf in pristine condition. “My dear, you’re going to have to buy them all if you keep this up.” 

“Trash!” Crowley sputtered, tossing another one heedlessly to his left. It landed in a crumpled heap. 

The angel sighed and picked it up. 

He wandered a little further down the aisle and found an interesting section Crowley had missed. 

“Dear,” he called, “look at this! There are some wedding magazines down here that have two men on the cover instead of just wedding gowns. And even one with two women! ‘Gay Weddings’ this one is called. Sounds like one we should have, correct?”

Crowley looked up, still serious. “Absolutely,” he said. “Take one of each and put them on the ‘take these home’ pile.” 

In the end, they went to the checkout till with seventeen magazines and a thick stack of chocolate bars the angel picked up while they were waiting in line. 

“Well we’re going to need reinforcements to read through all of these,” he said when the demon raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“You’re right,” the demon said. “Let’s get some takeaway on the way home too. This could be a long evening.” 

Aziraphale headed outside the shop to wait while Crowley paid up, amusing himself by scanning the books inside the front window display and deciding how many of them were dreck and how many were actually worth reading. He had reached a grand total of 75% dreck when he suddenly felt a strange chill break over him. He shuddered and looked around, but saw nothing amiss. 

Crowley chose that exact moment to emerge from the store, to find the angel turning in a circle glancing around the street. “Everything okay there, angel?”

“Oh, yes dear, I’m fine,” the angel said, shaking the feeling off. He pulled his coat tighter around himself. “Just one of those cold breezes that you get this time of year. The sun can be so deceptive, after all.”

He took the hand the demon held out to him and they set off for the Indian restaurant, and then home. 

++

“We need a location,” Crowley said later, from his position, flopped on the Persian rug in what for anyone else would be a back-breaking and excruciating position but for him was just regular daily posture, surrounded by magazines opened to various spreads with post it notes sprinkled all over them. He appeared to be reading at least four articles at once and was barking comments at Aziraphale about things to write down. 

The angel, being eternally patient, sat on the couch with his little black notebook and a fountain pen, neatly writing out all of Crowley’s important points in his tidy copperplate handwriting.  
LOCATION, he wrote. IMPORTANT.

“Any ideas?” he asked. Somehow, the angel could tell that he was not going to be the major decision maker about most of the wedding details, which was absolutely fine with him. He could marry the demon on the street corner, in a cardboard box, in a restaurant bathroom, and he’d be happy. 

Well possibly not a restaurant bathroom.

Crowley rolled onto his back, head on a magazine, and thought a bit. “Not a church, for sure,” he said, “although I do like the idea of that as a way to stick it to the heavenly host, but the burns wouldn’t be worth it.” 

“Mmm hmm,” the angel murmured, writing down CHURCH and then crossing it out. It paid to be thorough. “I agree, dearest.”

“Outdoors might be nice. Possibly a hotel.”

“We could do it here,” Aziraphale said, consideringly. 

Crowley looked around. “Nah, too dusty here,” he said. “I want to do this right.” 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Aziraphale said, writing down and crossing out BOOKSTORE. He thought for a few minutes. “I have a few ideas, actually.”

Crowley rolled onto his side and gave Aziraphale his full attention. “Spill it, love.”

“Well, I believe the British Museum can be rented out…”

Crowley whistled appreciatively. “Married surrounded by the mis-labeled plunder of imperial exploits? I like it!” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Let’s call that a no, then. Perhaps one of the libraries? I hear One Whitehall Place is lovely.” 

“That’s possible. We should go look at it.”

“And there’s always Kew Gardens…”

Crowley actually leapt to his feet. “That’s _perfect_!” he shouted. He grinned at Aziraphale. “Let’s go look at it right now.”

“Crowley, dear, it’s nearly three in the morning.” 

“And?” 

Aziraphale stood up and brushed his hands off on his pants, noting that it was clearly time to put an end to this bout of mania. “Now listen, my dear,” he said, moving close to his partner. “I love your wild enthusiasm for planning this wedding, but I must insist that we get some rest. We don’t have to plan the entire wedding on the very first day, do we?” 

Crowley frowned a little. “Well no one says we couldn’t.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon and nuzzled him. “I know,” he said, “but I thought perhaps we could talk a bit about the wedding night, if you know what I mean.”

The demon took a minute to process that idea, but when he comprehended it his eyes lit up and he admitted defeat. “Fine,” he said happily. “But we’re getting back to this tomorrow, you realize.” 

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh I can’t imagine we are going to be accomplishing anything else anytime soon, my dear.” He gave Crowley’s hand a tug. “Now come with me.” 

The demon allowed himself to be led upstairs. 

In his cage, Frederick rolled his eyes. These two were incomprehensible. They came home and scattered colored papers all over the rug in a way that created the perfect warm, messy snake nest, then they abandon it to go sleep in a cold bed on the top floor? He would never understand these two.


	2. Let Them Eat Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a snake learns he cannot be a ringbearer, and Aziraphale realizes he can get free cake for months.

Aziraphale was surprised to wake up the next morning after having apparently slept the entire night entangled with Crowley. This was a rarity for him – while he did occasionally indulge in a few hours of sleep, a half night was usually about the most he could pull off. This morning though, he let out a long breath and relaxed back into his partner’s arms. Why not indulge for a while longer? 

The demon was so peaceful when he was sleeping – it was the only time Aziraphale ever really saw his face at rest. Usually watching Crowley’s face was a race just to keep up with the lightning-fast thoughts and changes in emotional states; when he slept, though, the lines and angles smoothed out and he looked younger, somehow, and much, much more vulnerable. It made the angel’s heart ache with adoration just to look at him. 

“You’re staring at me, angel,” the demon muttered sleepily. “All prickly feeling.” 

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him on one eyebrow, then the other. “Just admiring, my dear,” he said. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Mmmhmm,” the demon mumbled, rolling away from him. “Not done yet.” 

Aziraphale took pity and abandoned the bedroom, taking a moment to pull on a warm, cable-knit jumper. It was still a little chilly out, and as he padded downstairs he thoughtfully raised the ambient temperature by another ten degrees, hoping that it would maybe keep his companions comfortably awake for the rest of the day. He swung into the kitchen to set up the cappuccino maker, knowing the aroma would soon bring Crowley to his senses, and then headed out to survey the mess of wedding magazines from the previous night. 

Frederick was up and moving, so he pulled him out to join him on the floor. Frederick hissed approvingly at being allowed to try out the new den; he burrowed under a magazine that was lying open and upside down, with just his head and tail sticking out of either side of the spine.

“It would nice if we could have you be part of the wedding ceremony, Frederick,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. 

OH SURE, NO PROBLEM. Frederick thought. WHAT’S A WEDDING, ANYWAYS?

“Think you could carry a ring?” Aziraphale asked. He pondered for a minute, and then slipped off his angelic sigil ring for a moment – he certainly wasn’t going to try this with his engagement ring, after all. Moving slowly and carefully, he placed it on the tip of Frederick’s tail, where it snugged down a few inches before coming to rest. 

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? Frederick shrieked, feeling both the cold metal and the touch of some kind of powerful energy on his tail. IS THAT SOME KIND OF COLLAR? I DON’T WEAR COLLARS YOU FLUFFY IDIOT!

Frederick thrashed around, trying to get a good look at his tail, and in the process sent the ring flying across the room, where a series of clinks indicated it landed under the feet of one of the larger bookcases. 

“Well so much for that idea,” the angel said frostily, heading over to look for it. 

++

Crowley awoke to the smell of brewing coffee, and couldn’t resist -- he made his way slowly down the stairs and out into the main area, where he stopped in surprise at the sight that greeted him. Aziraphale, down on his hands and knees, head on the floor as he squiggled and tried to get an arm under various pieces of furniture. Across the room from him, Frederick was lounging on a pile of magazines. He would swear it looked like the snake was highly amused. 

“Well this is a lovely sight,” he commented drolly, and the angel sat up so fast that he knocked a few books over. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, er, hello,” Aziraphale said. “Nothing, just call it a failed experiment. I tried my sigil ring on Frederick to see if he could maybe be a ring bearer and he had a full body convulsion and sent it flying across the room. I can’t quite get to it.” 

Crowley pursed his lips and tried not to laugh. The angel had dust bunnies all over his waistcoat and in his hair, and he looked absolutely adorable. “You’re an angel, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, and?”

Crowley shook his head. “And you thought it was a good idea to put your angelic sigil, which holds some of your powers, ON A SNAKE.”

“I did, yes,” the angel said, stubbornly. 

The demon sighed and snapped his fingers, and a glint of gold appeared in his hand. “Also,” he said patiently, “you have powers and don’t have to actually get down there and dig around, you know.”

Oh. That was true. Aziraphale walked over and took the ring out of his hand, unable to think of any adequate response. 

“You’re so lucky you have me around, love,” Crowley said, before blowing him a kiss and walking off to get a cup of coffee. 

Aziraphale followed him a few minutes later, dust bunnies removed and dignity restored. 

They chatted for the next half hour about essentials about the wedding, and managed to set some parameters. They both wanted a small wedding, with just friends and no real wedding party. Budget wasn’t really a concern, as various questionable investments over the last two hundred years had left Crowley with nearly unlimited funds at his disposal, and Aziraphale also had a tidy sum socked away himself. Having some portion of the event outdoors would be lovely, the both agreed. Top priorities were flowers and food. They’d go simple on the invitations, focus on mostly candid photography from a low key professional, and just make the reception a nice, enjoyable party. 

“So, what are my jobs?” Aziraphale said. 

“You pick the food. And the cake.” Crowley had obviously already given this some thought. “I’ll head up most everything else.” 

Aziraphale looked concerned. “Are you sure? This shouldn’t be a burden on you, Crowley! I want to help.”

“Oh you’re going to help!” Crowley agreed. “But you’re just too easy to please to make some of these decisions. I mean, you’d never know if the flowers were good enough or not, would you? I’m not going to let a sub-par ranunculus mess up our special day. Everything needs to be right.” 

Aziraphale stared for a moment. “You will NOT berate our wedding flowers, Crowley, I just won’t have it. I’m not standing up to marry you surrounded by terrified, sobbing plants.”

“Oh please, you exaggerate,” Crowley scoffed. 

“I mean it, Crowley,” the angel warned. 

“All right, all right. I will be nice to the ones I pick out, promise.” 

One battle won, the angel thought. 

++

They went out of the next view days to visit a number of sites around town, including libraries and gardens, hotels and schools. Oddly enough, each place they visited found that they did indeed have a prime Saturday in August available for rental, despite usually booking two years in advance. Aziraphale frowned at Crowley over that one and made a mental note to find out later whose bookings he cancelled and restore them, but he put up with it as likely unstoppable at this point. 

Each venue was lovely in its own way, but the one that won both their hearts was the Nash conservatory at Kew Gardens. Small and intimate with huge floor to ceiling glass walls on three sides, it offered just the right amount of space for their smaller wedding party and the garden setting felt welcoming and homelike to them both. 

They took a few minutes to walk around the grounds before they made a final decision. 

“Remember how many dates we spent here?” Crowley said. 

“They weren’t all dates,” Aziraphale said. “Most of them were before the apocalypse.”

“They were dates and you know it,” Crowley said. “All of it was dates, really.”

“So we’ve been dating, in your view, for over six thousand years?”

“At least for the last four thousand, yes.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “That’s a lovely thought. You might have told me, though.”

“You just weren’t listening hard enough,” the demon teased. 

They had reached the Palm House, always one of their favorites. 

“Remember the night we broke in here?” Aziraphale asked. “Had a midnight picnic?”

“Oh sure, you sound all calm about it now, but you were practically hyperventilating about the breaking and entering then,” Crowley reminded him. 

Aziraphale waved a hand. “Was not. I just wanted you to feel comfortable, and you like it when I’m a little flustered. Don’t even try to say you don’t.”

Crowley grinned at him. “You’re an idiot.” 

“You’re the one marrying me,” he retorted. “Let’s go back and book it, my dear – you’re right, this is perfect!” 

Crowley had it booked and paid almost before he had finished the sentence. 

++

A few days later they chose a simple invitation at the neighborhood printer and put together the guest list – their friends from Tadfield and their families, Madam Tracy and the Witchfinder, the staff from a handful of local merchants, bakery owners, and restaurants who had become friends, and a few favorite customers. All in all, it was a small set, about forty people, just perfect for the space they were thinking of.

They pointedly did not send invites to anyone from their respective former employers. 

“Do you think we need any security, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked worriedly as they walked back to the shop. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Aziraphale said carefully. “Do you think Above or Below is going to try to interfere in any way? They wouldn’t be particularly happy to hear about this, I suppose.” 

Crowley frowned and thought it over. “I don’t know. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since the big capture in the park. Seems like maybe they’ve decided to wash their hands of us entirely.” 

“You’re right,” Aziraphale said. “It’s been very quiet.” 

“And Adam did set some changes in place to lessen interference from either side,” Crowley added. “But I can talk to Anathema about some warding for the wedding site, just in case. She ought to be able to set up spells or glyphs around the buildings and the grounds to keep any entities other than us from being able to enter the day of the wedding.”

“That’s a good idea, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s do that.”

“Angel,” Crowley said slowly, “Do you have some reason to be worried?”

Aziraphale thought about that brief, odd twinge he felt outside the bookstore the prior week. Had that been anything, or had it just been his imagination? Things had certainly been perfectly calm since. 

“No,” he finally said, “I haven’t. Just being cautious. You know me.” 

Crowley appeared satisfied with that answer, and let it go. He did place a call to Anathema that night, though, and invited her up the following weekend to talk strategies. 

++

The next morning Aziraphale was downstairs making a racket in the kitchen when Crowley woke up, and a quick sniff indicated that it was clearly a waffles morning. Hit with an instant fit of hunger, 

Crowley quickly dressed and headed down. 

Aziraphale greeted him with a smile, looking a little tired and pale, and immediately plated him an enormous waffle the size of his head. He was sure the angel had fiddled with the waffle iron, somehow, to make it larger, as no one made waffles that big. It was also, oddly enough, heart shaped. 

“Isn’t it a little early for this kind of sentimental display?” he teased. 

Aziraphale simply made a face at him and added syrup and powdered sugar with a heap of berries to his plate, then plopped down the foamiest, creamiest cappuccino he’d seen in weeks. 

“Your breakfast,” he said with a flourish. Then he plated one of similar size for himself and sat down across from him. 

Crowley smiled his thanks and took a large sip of his coffee, before leaning back contentedly. 

“Now this is the way to live,” he sighed, contemplating whether to start with waffle, berries, or both. “You look tired, by the way. Everything okay?”

“I didn’t sleep very well,” the angel said. “I had a – what are they called? Ill dream? Night torment? Never had one before.”

“Nightmare, angel. You had a nightmare?” Crowley looked at him reproachfully. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because you were asleep and it was just a silly dream,” the angel said, ever reasonable. “I don’t even remember the details, honestly. Just woke up in a panic with my heart racing. I was able to calm myself down.” 

Crowley stabbed his fork into his gigantic waffle and left it there, twanging vertically. He leaned forward with both elbows on the table and fixed the angel with his most serious of serious looks. 

“Listen to me, angel,” he said quietly. “You are my fiancé and soon to be husband and if you have a nightmare I don’t want to hear this utter bullshit about letting me sleep. You. Will. Wake. Me. Up. Do you understand me?”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary –”

“I really don’t think you get a say in this one,” Crowley snapped. “The entire point of this is that I get to be here for you when you need me. You’d want me to do the same, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale stared at him, transfixed, while a rush of heated love and mild shame roiled through him. He was right. He was entirely right. 

“Yes, I would,” he finally admitted. “I will if it happens again. I promise.” 

Satisfied, the demon pried his fork loose and returned to cramming food into his mouth as if the world was coming to an end. 

“So,” the angel said after a bit of a pause, eager to get back to more pleasant subjects. “We’ve got the venue and the invitations done. What’s on the wedding agenda for today?” 

“Oh, you’ll like today!” Crowley said with a grin. “It’s cake tastings today.” 

As expected, the angel’s face lit up like a kid at a birthday party. “You get to go taste cakes?” he asked, almost afraid to believe it. “Like, people give you actual slices of cake just because you’re planning a wedding?”

Crowley laughed. “Yes, angel, they give you cake. As many flavors as you like. As many bakeries as you like. In fact, if you like, you can go taste cakes every day for the next month, as long as you pick different places each time. No one’s going to turn away a well-to-do patron who’s wedding shopping.” 

Aziraphale cut his waffle in half and pushed one portion of it aside. “I’d better save some room, then,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “This sounds like the perfect day!”

++

Crowley sat back and watched as Aziraphale had the time of his life that morning. He was clearly in his element, charming each and every one of the bakers they met with his intense love for fine baked goods and interest in the ingredients. Crowley had made appointments at the four top-rated cake shops in greater London and sped them to each in the Bentley. It was a sign of how much the angel was enjoying himself that he didn’t even comment on their record-breaking speeds. 

The angel insisted on trying a little bit of everything. Sponge cake to fruit cake, buttercream and fondants, ganache and fruit gelees, profiteroles and cupcakes, and the ever famous croque en bouche, its tiny cream puffs piled high under hard swoops of caramelized sugar. 

The only place the angel drew a hard line was at the idea of the currently trendy ‘naked cake.’

“Cake without frosting?” he gasped. “What on earth is the point of that?”

The proprietor insisted on bringing one out to show them. Aziraphale was polite and tried it, making encouraging comments about the tastiness and moistness of the cake, but as soon as they left the building he was full of criticism.

“Cross that one off the list, Crowley,” he said acerbically. “I can’t trust the judgment of someone who thinks cake laid bare of frosting is a good thing.”

Crowley smiled. “Whatever you say, angel. Just do me a favor and don’t make it cupcakes, either.”

“No cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes are for children.” 

“I agree, actually,” Aziraphale said. “You can have cupcakes anytime. You only get to have your own wedding cake once.” 

They reached the car and Crowley held the passenger door open for him. “Off to patisserie number four,” he announced grandly, closing the door with a flourish. 

++

They were walking down the block to the final cake tasting when Aziraphale stumbled and caught onto Crowley’s arm for support.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked, peering at him. 

“Yes, I think so – I just felt a little dizzy for a moment,” the angel replied. He stopped and took a few deep breaths. 

“Do you need water?” Crowley asked. “Want to sit down somewhere?” 

The angel let go of his arm and straightened up with a determined smile. “I’m fine, really! It’s just been an exciting day and I got a little overheated in this big coat. Let’s keep walking.” 

Crowley frowned and undid a few buttons of the angel’s overcoat, then unwrapped a layer of the lightweight scarf he was wearing so the angel could get some air. 

“Better?” he asked, concerned. 

“Fit as a fiddle,” Aziraphale assured him, moving on.

++

“Welcome, welcome!” said the proprietor at the final shop. “You are Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell, I presume?” She handed them each a glass of champagne and ushered them back to the finely appointed tasting room. 

“Please tell me a little about what you had in mind for your wedding cake,” the woman said, pulling out a little notepad. 

Aziraphale filled her in on the basics – the venue, the number of guests, and what they had liked or not liked so far. 

“And you, sir?” she said, turning to Crowley. 

Crowley leaned in and smiled. “Just make him happy,” he said. “This man LOVES cake, and I want him to have the best wedding cake he’s ever seen for our big day. Oh, and no cupcakes. And nothing cutesy. Flowers would be nice, possibly.”

Aziraphale laughed a little as his ‘I have no opinions on cake’ fiancé turned out to have rather a lot of opinions after all. 

They tried three or four spectacular cake samples there and were just settling in to try a second portion of their current favorite – a chocolate sponge with pomegranate filling and a rich, decadent buttercream, when it happened. 

“I think we might have a winner,” Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale with an eyebrow raised. 

Aziraphale paused with a forkful halfway to his mouth, and then laid the fork down with a clunk. 

“Oh,” he said, placing his hand on the table as if supporting himself. “I don’t feel so well.” 

Crowley and the baker looked at him, concerned. “What is it angel?” 

“I’m dizzy,” he said, whitening alarmingly. “The whole room is –” 

He broke off and made a strange noise deep in his throat. 

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to get the angel to focus on him. “Angel, what’s happening? Breathe with me,” he said. “Get him some water,” he shouted to the baker, who rushed off to the kitchen.

Aziraphale raised frantic-looking eyes towards the demon and wobbled in his seat. “Oh no,” he said in a panicked tone. “I think – my dear I think I’m –”

Crowley blinked as the angel appeared to become slightly transparent around the edges for a moment. It almost looked like he flickered. 

OH FUCK, he thought, as he realized slightly too slowly what was happening just as the angel managed to get the words out – 

“—being summoned!” 

“SHIT!” The demon frantically looked around for salt but it was already too late. 

There was a flare of light and when his sight cleared, the angel was gone.


	3. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes up in a strange, dark place. Crowley calls for reinforcements.

Aziraphale awoke with a start. The first thing he noticed was that he was on a hard, stone floor. His head hurt abominably, and one entire side of his body was sore, as if he had been asleep for quite a while. He shoved himself up to a sitting position and looked around. 

He was in something that looked like a tube station, although clearly defunct and long abandoned. A few spot lights had been clipped to the walls and were burning with a buzzy, stuttering sound, and he could see water pooled up in various areas, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a rat or two in a far corner. Otherwise it was dark, and as far as he could tell, deserted.

Feeling his head clearing a bit, Aziraphale stood and took a good look at the predicament he was in. 

The ground around him had been painted with a series of glyphs and symbols in what appeared to be either red paint or blood. Candles were burning at the top of each sigil, and a quick sensory sweep told him that someone here knew what they were doing – they were not only beeswax, but they had been blessed. 

He could see no one beyond the circle’s perimeter, at the moment, although he did note a camera set up on a tripod a little distance away. The blinking red light on top told him that it was on and working. He determinedly ignored it. 

Aziraphale dug in his pockets, disturbed to find his phone gone. His sigil ring was also missing. Bloody thorough, he realized. He found what he was looking for – a wrapped mint he’d picked up at one of the bakeries this morning, something with a little heft to it. He tossed it carefully at a spot about three feet off the ground where the edges of the circle appeared to be and watched grimly as it bounced off an invisible wall and rebounded back to the ground at his feet. 

Could he touch it? Aziraphale wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to be burned or knocked unconscious by the barrier, but he felt he had to try. He moved towards it slowly and edged a toe out to bring the tip of his shoe in contact with it. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said, booming out of a crackling speaker behind him that he’d failed to notice. 

The angel froze, then calmly took a step backwards. “Oh?” he said coldly. “And why not? You’ve got my attention – come out here and show yourself.” 

The voice laughed. “You don’t command me, angel. Not at all. In fact I think you’ll find the opposite to be true.” 

Aziraphale did not like the sound of this at all. 

++

“SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!”

Crowley lunged for the angel as the light flashed in his eyes but he knew even before his hands closed around empty air that he was too late. How could he not have realized? He’d been summoned before, centuries ago, and he knew some of the warning signs. In retrospect he could see that a few of the strange feelings Aziraphale had been having over the last few weeks – sudden chills, sleep disturbances, losses of balance on the street – were probably either early experiments at making contact or failed attempts at the summoning. 

He was a bloody, fucking idiot and he was going to find his angel before one more second went by. 

Crowley ruthlessly wiped the memory of the proprietor when she came back with a glass of water, then used his demonic influence to encourage her to close up shop for the day and go, leaving him alone to examine the site of the crime more closely on his own. 

He knelt cautiously on the floor and laid his hands flat on the surface where Aziraphale’s feet had been touching, closing his eyes and extending his senses to try to get a trace on where the summoning had taken him. When that produced nothing, he sat up and tried to extend his senses to get a bead on where the angel himself was. He concentrated grimly, casting his energies out in a wide net, trying to locate him. 

Where. Was. He.

He finally got a weak sense of Aziraphale, enough to tell him that the angel was alive, but it was muted and dispersed somehow, as if whoever had taken him had him shielded. 

Unable to get any more information from his current location, Crowley miracled himself to the Bentley and raced for home. 

++

Aziraphale looked around a bit more, trying to figure out exactly where he was. Something about the room he was in looked familiar; he was in a long, empty end of a tube station, and an old one at that. The end where he was imprisoned was wider than the other, and the track below him was oddly flat, without the usual pits and rails he was used to seeing. Where was he? He knew he knew it. There was no signage in sight to tell him. 

Footsteps echoed ominously from down the hall, and Aziraphale squared himself up into a ready stance, relaxed but prepared for combat, as a figure stepped out of the doorway at the far end of the track, too far to make out details. 

Looked human, was his first thought. That was something of a relief. He schooled his face into impassivity and waited until the figure got closer. 

Another, darker figure slipped out of the doorway behind the man, but he or she stayed back in the shadows. Aziraphale tried to cast out and got a vague sense of demonic energy, but he couldn’t tell anything more. 

++

Crowley slammed into the bookstore, checking the wards as he did so and finding them un-tampered with. He snapped his fingers to lock all the doors and window frames and lower the blinds, then pulled out his phone and dialed Anathema. 

“It’s me. I know you were planning to come this weekend,” he said grimly in lieu of greeting, “but come now. Right now.”

Anathema sounded concerned. “Crowley? Is that you?” she said. “What’s happened?”

“Someone’s taken Aziraphale, and I need your help. Get down here, please, as soon as you can. Bring Newt if you must. Bring all your tools. Just get here.”

“I’m on my way,” she said. 

While he waited, he pulled a series of books from Aziraphale’s private shelves and set to flipping through them feverishly looking for information about summonings. Most of what he learned he already knew. Summonings relied on sigils, which were, in essence, a drawing of a thought designed to connect one practitioner with one specific entity, be it demon, angel, or something far more obscure. Like a phone number. Summoning was a difficult art to practice, requiring strong intent, precise control, and a high degree of preparation. When done incorrectly, it was easily broken, but when done well it could be very effective. 

Crowley hoped to Heav—to Hell—to someone that whoever summoned Aziraphale fell on the less experienced side of the spectrum. 

++

The figure stepped closer; he was a man, Aziraphale was sure of it, tall and perhaps in his forties, wearing a dark suit cut in an older style, perhaps from the 1950s. His eyes were gray and difficult to see behind a pair of round-rimmed glasses he wore. He walked up to just outside the edge of the circle, and stood with his arms folded over his chest while examining the angel closely. 

The man had an aura of ethereal power around him, licking at the edges like flame. It shouldn’t have been there. Aziraphale looked between him and the dark, shadowy figure at the other end of the station, considering the source of this power. 

“Principality Aziraphale,” the man said, his voice steady and clear. “You’ve been a hard angel to track down. I’ve been attempting to summon you for weeks.” 

Aziraphale fixed him with an impassive gaze. “Return me at once, and I will ensure that no harm comes to you,” he said calmly. “Otherwise I can make no such promises.”

The man laughed. “I believe you’re in no position to make threats at the moment, Principality. You see, I’ve made some adjustments to you, while you were sleeping.” 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “You did no such thing.” 

“Just a small injection,” the man said. “A potion of my own devising, helps to make you more, shall we say, pliable to my will? You’re already bound to me, I know you’re aware of it, from the sigils. This inoculation just lowers your resistance. You’re infamous for your stubbornness.” 

Aziraphale balled his hands into fists. “What do you want from me, you pathetic wretch?”

The man snapped his fingers and Aziraphale suddenly found his body gone rigid. “Politeness, for a start,” the man purred. 

The angel tried to struggle but found he couldn’t move at all. The man snapped again and he shot backwards like a ragdoll, crashing into the far edge of the circle and painfully rebounding forward, landing hard on his hands and knees on the cement. 

“Are you going to be civil?” the man asked, “or do I need to have you bash your face into the ground a few times?” 

Aziraphale gritted his teeth and rose to his feet again, taking care to keep his temper under control for the moment. “Why am I here?”

“To put it quite simply, I need some of your materials for my work,” the man said. 

Aziraphale held his stance and watched as the man stepped through the circle – clearly neither angel nor demon, then, as the circle was warded to prevent entry or exit of either – and then waved a hand almost casually at the angel.

“Freeze, Principality,” he said. 

Aziraphale was intensely frustrated to find himself instantly frozen in place, arms straight at his sides, unable to do anything except watch as the man came close to him and produced a bowl and a small knife. He pulled one of the angel’s arms out to a 45 degree angel and made a shallow cut in the palm of his hand, collecting the golden ichor as it flowed out in a stream. 

When the bowl was full and the blood had slowed to a trickle, he pressed a handkerchief against the angel’s palm until the bleeding appeared to stop. 

“That’s all for now,” he said. “You’ve been most cooperative. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve verified this batch.” 

And he backed out of the circle, releasing his control as he did. 

The angel frowned, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand. What was the man going to do with his blood? What could this mean? He was certain of one thing and one thing only – it meant nothing good, for either him or the world. 

++

Anathema showed up after the longest two hours in the world. She was alone, and had brought several volumes and a large carpet bag of materials. Crowley tolerated her hug, then ushered her in to the office area, where he’d surrounded himself with books. He was clearly in no mood for chit chat.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, sitting down on the couch. 

Crowley brought her up to speed as quickly as possible. 

“Summoning is a difficult act, even for witches, and requires quite a lot of power,” Anathema said. “The fact that Aziraphale didn’t immediately vanquish whoever it was and reappear probably means that whoever did this has some skill.”

Crowley already knew this. Likely not some college kids playing around with a séance. The thought had been tormenting him for the last two hours. 

“Also, it’s quite dangerous, even if you’re skilled,” she said. “Do you know the Law of Equivalent Exchange?” 

“No,” Crowley said. “What does it mean?”

“Summoning an entity invokes a law of exchange,” Anathema explained. “It’s the cardinal principle of the entire process. You can summon a demon or an angel or some other kind of being, but you can’t control the process completely. In order to get what you want from them, you have to give up something of equal value.”

“Right, right,” Crowley said impatiently. “I’ve been summoned by enough idiots over the centuries offering me their soul or their pathetic bag of gold for whatever they wanted me to –”

“Yes, but, that’s the whole problem,” Anathema interrupted, leaning forward excitedly with her dark eyes intent. “That’s what people THINK happens, but the way it actually works is that the summoner has no choice in what is taken in return. You can’t control the process; you can’t decide to offer your soul or your firstborn or your material possessions.”

“Then what?” 

“It’s up to the being who’s been summoned! Or, if they fail to make the exchange, the cardinal principle itself will take care of it.” 

Crowley felt a brief tingle of hope. “So, in this case, Aziraphale would actually have the power to take his revenge on the person who’s pulled him in?”

Anathema sighed and pulled her glasses off, rubbing her eyes. “Not exactly, no, not revenge. Just an equivalence. It depends what they want from him and how they’ve bound him.” She looked around for a drink and found a decanter on the table in front of her; Crowley nodded her assent as she poured herself a small glass of scotch. “Equivalent. If they take something from him, he can, if he’s aware, take something of equal value in return.” 

“So if they do something bad to him, he can take something bad from them…”

Anathema nodded. “Yes. It’s inevitable. Maybe not right away, if he’s bound and controlled, but you can only delay it, not deny it completely.”

Crowley nodded grimly. “Good. That’s helpful. Enough about summoning, though, let’s talk about spells for locating things.”

“That’s what I assumed you were going to want,” Anathema said, with a tight smile. She looked, he thought, like a cross between a librarian and an assassin. It was a good look. “Let’s get down to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who are worried, I promise no one is going to die. Or fall. Including snakes. Another chapter later today!


	4. Magical Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale tests the boundaries of his confinement and Anathema and Crowley struggle to find him. And the angel's secret photograph collection finally comes in handy.

The moment the man left him alone, Aziraphale wiped his hands clean with his own pocket handkerchief and sat down cross-legged in the middle of the circle to concentrate. His grace was somewhat depleted from the events of the last few hours, but he still had his healing powers, so he did his best to heal himself internally while not healing his external wounds – he thought it might be good not to reveal his powers too fully. 

Feeling significantly stronger, he then moved on to seeing if he could find a way to contact Crowley. 

Aziraphale pictured Crowley as strongly as he could in his mind, calling up not just his face but the very feel of him, his essence, the underlying ethereal form of him that only he had ever seen. When the picture was clear enough in his mind that he could rotate it in three dimensions, he focused all of his efforts and tried to send a surge of thought directly to him. 

He felt, rather than saw, his energy shatter at the border of the circle. It dissipated away as easily as it had been gathered. 

He pushed aside his frustration; there was no time for that now.

Next, he decided, he had to make at least one attempt to take out the barrier itself. He stood and walked closer to the edge, not touching it, and closely examined each of the 11 sigils placed around the borders. They’d done their work quite well; he saw the secret sigil for his own name – close to the design on his sigil ring but more elaborate. It was followed by sigils for retrieving and binding, holding in and locking out of energies, repelling touch, preserving life, and four more that he recognized but would have had to look up in one of his books to translate. He did not find the errors he had been hoping for; even one mistake in one sigil would have made the circle much more vulnerable to his own interference. 

Nonetheless, he thought, he needed to try. 

Aziraphale stood near the edge and closed his eyes again, summoning the full extent of his current power and gathered it into a tight ball in the palms of his hands. When he felt the energies at their peak, he took a deep breath and leaned forward to place both hands on the barrier and push. 

It burned. It burned intensely. It was only through his utter strength and stubbornness that he managed to maintain contact and put all of his effort into pushing out, trying to shatter the barrier with sheer will. 

He pushed and ached as searing pain licked up his arms, his legs trembling with the effort to not collapse. Time seemed to slow – was it ten seconds or ten minutes that he struggled? He couldn’t say. But finally he released his power and was immediately blown several feet back onto the hard floor. He gathered himself back into a seated position and closed his eyes to meditate and pray, while soothing the immense ache and dizziness he felt from the attempt. 

“I will find a way back to you, Crowley,” he whispered. “Don’t you worry.” 

++

Anathema flipped through her grimoire and various spell books while Crowley paced. The demon looked terrible; his hair had obviously been pulled in all directions, his clothes were unusually disarrayed, and she had never seen his face look so grim. 

“There are lots of spells for locating lost items,” she said. 

“He’s not lost, he’s taken,” Crowley bit out. 

“Yes, I know, but it’s a place to start.” Anathema flipped a few more pages. “Cantrips, charms, dowsing, These are more for items than people but it’s possible they might work. I need a picture of both of you. Two pictures, one each.” 

“Where am I supposed to – “ Crowley began, then it hit him. Aziraphale’s wardrobe was full of pictures. “Hang on!” 

Crowley raced up and into the angel’s ornate dressing room, where he was immediately overpowered by a crushing sense of worry and loss. No room in the house reflected his angel as much as this did, with its ostentatious and ridiculous furniture and his well-loved outfits displayed and well-cared for. And there, on the back of the door, was the photo gallery Crowley had previously mocked him for; he blessed the angel for his peculiarities now. He quickly located a photo that showed just himself and pulled it down, then rummaged through his own small trunk for a moment to a small stash of photos of Aziraphale he’d gathered over the years. Finally, both in hand, he hurried back down to the office. 

Anathema had been busy, setting up a bowl full of salt with a white candle in the middle. She put the pictures on each side, facing in, and lit the candle. Finally she tied a red string around the entire contraption, joining both pictures inside a red circle. 

“Kneel over here,” she said to the demon, pointing to the opposite side of the table. He did, and she turned the bowl so that Crowley was staring straight through the flame at the picture of Aziraphale. 

“Concentrate on his picture and draw him to mind as firmly as you can. See him, smell him, pull up how you feel when you’re around him.” 

Crowley found this not at all difficult – he had been visualizing and imagining Aziraphale in his mind for centuries, whenever they were apart. He pictured his love with his ridiculous clothing and his adorable smile, his soft, dark lashes and his brilliant blue gaze. He didn’t have to try to summon his feelings for him; they were there, as always, so close to the surface as to be unstoppable. He focused on the love and attraction and amusement and joy he always felt around his angel, and kept his eyes locked on the photograph. 

“Now shift your vision to the flame a little,” Anathema said, “and soften your eyes, and with the spell I’m about to speak, you might be granted a vision of where he is.” 

Crowley let his eyes blur a little out of focus and stared at the flickering candle flame; across from him Anathema spoke or sang words, under her breath, while making movements he couldn’t identify. The flame shifted and intensified and suddenly he could see – something. 

“I see a dome!” he shouted, then carefully reined himself in. “It’s very dark, hard to make out. There are markings – I think it’s the summoning circle.” 

Anathema traced something in the salt in the bowl and the vision intensified a little. “Can you see Aziraphale?”

“The surface is a little milky, it’s hard to see through it.”

“It’s shielded,” she clarified. “No energy in or out. But he’s in there or it wouldn’t be showing it to you.”

Crowley shifted his attention from the circle to the environment around him. “It looks like a tunnel. It’s hard to see details.”

“Somewhere underground…” Anathema mused. “Okay, we can work with this.” She dug out a large map of London and laid it out on the floor behind Crowley, then dug out a pendulum. “Keep watching the flame and let me know if anything changes.” 

Anathema sang softly, humming as she swung the golden pendulum over the map in circles. She started wide, going over the edges of the map, then gradually started working in quadrants as she tried to narrow in on the location. 

“He’s definitely in London,” she said, “and not all that far away.” 

“It looks almost like a tube station,” Crowley said, squinting, “because of all the tile. No signage, though, and all dark.”

“Aren’t there a lot of decommissioned stations around?” 

“Yeah, lots,” Crowley said. “At least fifty.”

“It would be a good place to trap an angel,” Anathema noted. “You’d have space and privacy.” 

Crowley felt a surge of both hope and anger, and he tamped both down to keep his eyes locked on the flame.

Suddenly someone else walked into the frame he was viewing – a person, it looked like. He was carrying something, and he looked menacing. 

“Anathema,” he warned, “something is happening. There’s someone there with him.” 

“I’m working, I’m working,” she said, moving from quadrant to quadrant as she scanned the map. 

Crowley watched in alarm as the man made some kind of movement and stepped inside the circle. “He just walked into the circle, witch!” he snarled. “He’s doing something to Aziraphale! Find him RIGHT NOW.”

“Almost there…” she called, voice distracted. 

The demon wished beyond anything that this vision included sound, but it didn’t. He couldn’t see what was happening inside the circle, either, but he could see flashes of light and once, he saw what he thought might be the outline of Aziraphale pressed up against the border of it for a moment. Why wasn’t Aziraphale able to fight this man off? He should have more power than some scrawny human no matter how well versed in magic they were. 

“Got him,” she said triumphantly. “You can look away now.” 

Crowley whirled around and turned to see where Anathema’s pendant was pointing. 

“He’s in the Temple area. Near the river.” She laid a slim finger on the map. “Right about here. What’s there?”

Crowley thought hard. “There are a few down old stops there – Ludgate, the stupid British Museum stop they closed ages ago. And Aldywich.” He sat up suddenly. “It’s Aldwych, I know it is. We were down there once during the war. Aziraphale was helping them store the Elgin Marbles down there before the Blitz and he took me in one night to have a look. I knew I recognized it!”

He grabbed Anathema and, in an unusually expressive mood, kissed her on the forehead. “You did it. I owe you my life,” he said. “Seriously.”

Anathema looked a little flustered and didn't know what to say. 

Crowley's face darkened and his voice became grim. “Now to go get him," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for staying with me so far! 
> 
> Still dark. Relief is approaching. And then more darkness. And then happiness.


	5. Rescue You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to get his angel, and receives help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter contains some bad language, and some fire. You have been warned! 🔥🔥🔥  
.  
.  
——

Previously: Crowley’s face hardened and his tone turned grim. “Now to go get him,” he said.

__

“I’m going with you,” Anathema said to the demon as he rushed around gathering what seemed to be random items.

“No, actually, you’re not,” Crowley said firmly, not once slowing down. “S’dangerous. Stay here and be ready to help Aziraphale when I get him home.”

Anathema pulled herself up to her full height, which, she had to admit, wasn’t all the much next to Crowley. “You might need me,” she said firmly. “There might be traps or spells or wards and I can help you disarm them. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

Crowley looked at her consideringly. Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. He wasn’t going to be much use to Aziraphale if he couldn’t get into the building, or if he got caught like a fly in a spiderweb on his way in.

“All right,” he said. “But I’m in charge. If I tell you to stop or stay back, you do it.”

Anathema nodded. “I’m not looking to get killed, here.”

Crowley found what he’d been looking for and they hurried off to the Bentley, racing across town as if someone’s life depended on it – which it might, really. He was all too painfully aware of that.

++

They parked down the block, in case anyone was watching the front of the building, and crept up on it slowly, keeping to the edges of the pavement. The old brick façade was quiet and looked completely abandoned, the doors and windows covered with playbills.

“Let me,” Anathema said, taking out a handful of something and scattering it around the door and doorknob. She scanned for a minute while Crowley did the same, and detected nothing – no magic, no spells, no wards. Someone was perhaps a little overconfident in their efforts.

One miracled lock and they were in. It was evening and even the main level was dim; once they hit the stairs down to the platforms it was almost pitch black. Not a problem for Crowley, whose eyes were intended for night, but it was a problem for Anathema, would couldn’t see at all. Crowley motioned to her to hold onto his belt from behind, and he led them carefully and quietly down the 131 steps, hugging tight to the outside wall so she would have something to brace against.

“Scan again,” he whispered to her when they got to the bottom. She did and found a hidden warding across the entrance to the two platforms, which she was able to quietly dispel with a counterspell.

While she was working, Crowley concentrated on Aziraphale and was able to sense him nearby, his presence dulled behind whatever was shielding him from view. _We’re coming,_ he thought grimly. _I promise._

“He’s on platform two,” Crowley said quietly. “We need to go down and through there.” He pointed to a dark hallway. A small amount of light was coming from that area. They crept forward as silently as they could and tried to get a clear look at what was ahead.

The found a hallway leading up and over the tracks, with a small office off to the right side with the door partway open. Edging closer, they saw a figure standing in front of a desk, watching a video feed. Crowley could immediately tell the figure was a demon, even with his back turned to them. He had short dark hair pulled up into two spikes that looked like ears, and his clothes were sludge gray and in tatters.

Crowley motioned to Anathema to be quiet and wait, then leapt into the office and slammed a hand over the demon’s mouth from behind. He startled and struggled, kicking, against the hold, but Crowley overpowered him in a second, pushing him up against the wall, face-first, with a hand on the back of his neck clearly ready to snap his vertebrae.

“Make one sound,” Crowley hissed, “and I will discorporate you in the blink of an eye. Painfully. Nod your head if you understand.”

The demon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and hesitated for a moment. Crowley tightened his grip and the demon nodded his head frantically, trying to signal surrender.

Crowley cautiously released the hand that was covering the demon’s mouth but made no move to let up on the pressure on his neck.

“Who the FUCK are you?” he hissed.

“Don’t hurt me,” the demon pleaded. “I’m under his control the same as your angel is.”

“WHO ARE YOU?”

“They call me Rat. I’m a records worker in the fourth echelon under Dagon. I’m nobody important. I have almost no powers, and what I have Sebastian took.”

Crowley nodded to Anathema, who pulled out the rather substantial dagger they’d brought along and pointed it firmly at Rat, allowing Crowley to loosen his grip a little. The smaller demon took the opportunity to turn around, his back pressed up against the wall.

He looked frightened, Crowley realized. Crowley found he didn’t care in the slightest.

“You know who I am?” he asked, shifting his eyes from human to full-on snake. Rat moved from looking scared to looking terrified.

He nodded frantically. “I do. Dude -- you’re the – the bloody Serpent of Eden. You’re – you’re immune to holy water – you’re a fucking legend!”

Crowley grinned in a most unpleasant manner. “Then you know, don’t you,” he said, giving the demon a little shake, “that you DO NOT FUCK AROUND WITH ME, correct?”

The demon looked like he might faint, but he nodded. Crowley, ever good at assessing others, was beginning to think there wasn’t much of a threat from this creature. He indicated to Anathema to go watch the doorway, and she took a few steps away to get a good vantage point.

“Who is Sebastian,” Crowley said, “and what does he want with Aziraphale?”

“Sebastian is some kind of self-styled magician,” Rat said, and pointed to the back corner of the room where a large worktable had been set up. “He’s got this book, man, about how to kill angels, but he can’t read it fully yet because it has to be activated by blood. Ethereal blood.”

“From angels.”

“Angels and demons, dude. He took what he needed from me, and now he’s taking it from your friend.”

“How much blood does he need?” Crowley asked.

“Most of it. He takes care to stop before he kills us, because he knows it will replenish. But it’s rough. He used my blood to cast the circle so he could capture the angel, and then he took most of the rest to use on his book.”

Anathema looked over. “What’s he going to do when he activates his book?” she asked quietly.

Rat grinned. “He says he’s going to take down the archangels.”

Crowley blinked. This by itself was not the worst news he could have heard. “Which one?”

“All of them!” Rat said. “He wants to empty the upper echelon of Heaven. Assume their powers. You know, the usual bullshit. Use his new power to rule the world, yadda yadda.”

“He’s insane,” Crowley said, shocked. “That can’t be done.”

“Tell that to his book,” Rat said. “I mean, look at it. And it’s not even fully powered yet.”

Crowley gave it a closer look. It felt deeply evil, ancient, even older than the beings it was meant to kill. It radiated ill-will and harm and he absolutely, totally knew that he did not want to get anywhere near to touching it.

He didn’t have time for this right now. He had an angel to save. Crowley glanced at the monitor to ensure that this Sebastian person was busy inside the circle, then made a couple of split-second decisions.

“You,” he said, pointing at Rat. “Stay here and guard the book. DO NOT DOUBLE CROSS ME. No alarms, no running off, no fighting against us. If you help us, I will help you. I promise.”

Rat puffed up with importance. The bloody serpent of bloody Eden wanted his help. “I’m the lookout,” he said proudly. “If I don’t raise the alarm, he’ll never notice you getting close.”

“You,” he said to Anathema, “come with me. Set up some kind of warding on the platform so he can’t get back through the door and up to the office, okay?”

“What are you going to be doing?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Crowley said, voice cold as ice. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch and get my angel back.”

++

Crowley thought quickly as they headed across to platform two. Knowing that the circle was cast with demon blood was a plus. It wouldn’t be hard for him to break one of the sigils; he thanked the universe that it wasn’t angelic blood, which would have repelled his touch. Breaking the circle was only one step, though; he had to be ready to fight a man who appeared to be significantly powerful in his own right.

He reached the edge of the circle without incident, and Crowley scanned it closely for a second before summoning a tiny bit of hellfire to his index finger and obliterating the sigil with Aziraphale’s name on it.

The walls of the circle immediately crashed, revealing Aziraphale and Sebastian. Aziraphale sagged from the T-shaped posture he’d been obviously locked in and landed on his knees on the ground. His eyes tracked Crowley with surprise. Sebastian whirled around and waved one hand casually behind him at the angel.

“Stay,” he commanded, and the angel froze almost imperceptibly.

_Why did that work?_ Crowley thought wildly, circling instinctively to the side in an effort to get himself between the man and the angel. _I broke the sigil! That shouldn’t work!_

Then he stopped thinking as Sebastian turned to him and raised both hands in a complicated gesture.

“Oh no you don’t, you fucker,” Crowley hissed, pulling his true essence into being and revealing his wings and the frightening snake-and-maggots head he could conjure when really pissed off. He flew at Sebastian with a burst of ethereal speed and knocked him outside of the now-defunct circle, intent on crushing his larynx to prevent him from breathing any spells.

Sebastian somehow drew an arm free to shield his throat with and shouted something that flung Crowley back from him.

The demon hit the wall of the tunnel, hard, and immediately launched himself again. He manifested long claws to tear at the man’s torso in a brutal, hard stripe from collar bone to belly.

Sebastian responded by sweeping and arm out with a blast of power that again flung Crowley, this time knocking him off the platform into the track area.

The demon roared in outrage and, strengthened by both the adrenaline rush and a prodigious imagination, summoned hell fire, pulling it into both hands and shooting a ball of it at the magician.

The man wrenched himself to one side, managing to limit the damage to a severe burn to one hand. He shook it out, gasping, before picking up a piece of concrete debris and throwing it at the demon’s head.

Crowley vaporized it mid-air, unimpressed, and pulled himself back up onto the platform before tossing another piece of fire at the man.

Sebastian backed away, a look of concern finally beginning to dawn on his face. He held his burnt hand limply to his chest. Without it, he seemed to be having difficulty casting spells as easily as before.

“Now you listen to me, whoever you are,” Crowley said, moving towards him and shooting hellfire just barely to the left of him, to direct him to where he wanted him to go.

“I don’t care who you are –” he shot a bit of fire to the right, shepherding the man back towards the wall –

“Or what you can do – “ another blast of fire, too rapid to give the magician any time to respond –

“Or what you’re after –” a final blast trapped the man in the back corner, on the far end of the platform away from Aziraphale.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley noticed Anathema taking the opportunity to run over to the angel and see if she could rouse him. _Thank you, book girl,_ he thought.

Crowley used tendrils of demonic energy to coil around the man’s wrists and pin them to the wall.

“But the fact of the matter is this –” he leaned close and made sure to have eye contact with the now clearly terrified man. He could see the snake-and-maggot face he was wearing reflected in the man’s eyes.

“NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY ANGEL,” Crowley shouted. And then with one last effort, he brought both pillars of fire together, obliterating the creature in front of him in a split second.

Things moved quickly from there. Crowley heard a thump behind him as Aziraphale was released from whatever bonds were still holding him, and after taking a moment to scan the ashes and make sure no trace of power remained, he turned and rushed over to where Anathema was cradling the angel and helping him to his feet.

“Hello angel,” he said, trying desperately to sound cool and collected, and failing utterly. “Saved you some cake…”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, his voice all together strangled with emotion, and launched himself into the demon’s arms.

++

Anathema gave them a moment, tied together in an embrace and murmuring endearments and reassurances to each other that no one would dare interrupt, and headed back to the office to make sure that Rat was still with them. He was. He was watching on the monitor and grinning.

“Holy shit!” he yelled excitedly as she walked in. “He just fried that fucker to a crisp with HELLFIRE! How does he do that?”

“Can’t all demons make hellfire?” she asked, confused.

“Are you KIDDING?” he yelled. “Not that casually! Maybe once or twice, if they’re super powerful, but not over and over like that with perfect control and without collapsing from exhaustion afterwards! That was WICKED!”

Anathema smiled. “Well he’s unusual, I’ll grant you that.”

“He’s not unusual,” the lesser demon shouted excited, “he’s a BAD ASS! He’s the mother fucking SERPENT OF EDEN!”

“Got a bit of a fan club here, have you, then?” Aziraphale said wryly from the doorway. Crowley smiled and kept a protective arm wrapped around him.

“Oh my hells, you were AMAZING,” the lesser demon gushed. “I can’t believe I got to see that!”

“All right, all right,” Crowley said. “Keep your pants on. Aziraphale, meet Rat. Rat, meet Aziraphale.”

“We’ve met,” Aziraphale said a touch caustically.

“Oh dude,” Rat said, looking severely worried. “I’m so sorry about being part of it when he caught you. He forced me, you know, just like he forced you. Took nearly all of my blood to make that freaking circle, and just did that hand waving thing and barked orders at me whenever he wanted something. I would never have attacked you on my own. I know who you are. I know who HE is,” he said, pointing at Crowley, who was looking grim.

“Please don’t kill me,” he finished lamely.

“We’re not going to kill you,” Crowley said. “But I’m going to need something from you as an assurance.”

Rat didn’t even blink. “You got it! Whatever it is, you name it. Anything for the fucking SERPENT.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. When Aziraphale was feeling better, he was never going to let him hear the end of this. Hero worship was just unbecoming, even in an incredibly junior demon. He wished Rat would show at least a modicum of restraint.

“I need a feather,” he bit out. “From your wing.”

Rat faltered for a moment. “What for?”

“You know what for,” Crowley said. “Give it to me and you can go. Wherever you like. Back to hell, out on the town, you name it.”

Rat swallowed hard, then straightened himself up. It’s not like he really had a choice. He knew Crowley could kill him as easily as swatting a fly. Resolute, he manifested his wings, which were patchy and threadbare and hardly even in the same category as Crowley’s wings, and plucked one large primary feather out with a wince. He shoved his wings away again and handed it to Crowley.

Crowley took it and tucked it away inside his jacket. “You know I can summon you with this,” he said. “No matter what realm you’re in. If I hear or even suspect that you’re talking about the events that happened here, or get even the slightest hint of a feeling that you’re causing trouble for us, you’re going to be yanked from whatever stupid thing you’re doing and find yourself directly in front of me.”

Crowley stopped and took a threatening step closer to him. “And I,” he said loudly and clearly, “will not be happy.”

Rat, who had always thought the expression shaking-in-ones-boots was just hyperbole, was shocked to find out that one could in fact do exactly that. “I understand, Crowley, uh, sir,” he said. “You really don’t need to worry about me, I’m not after any trouble.”

Crowley took pity on him and stepped back with a grim smile. “Good,” he said. “Feel free to go, then. We’re taking the book.”

The lesser demon took trembling steps into the hallway, and disappeared with a flash of sulfur, back to Hell.

++

“We can’t touch that book,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“I think I can, though,” Anathema said, digging through her rucksack and coming up with something that looked like an ordinary burlap bag but clearly wasn’t. “I brought something our coven uses at the end of rituals -- when we’re cleaning up and putting things away. You don’t just want to put your ritual chalice in your backpack when it still has residual energy. This contains it a bit. Should help.”

“Good thinking,” Crowley said. They both watched a little nervously as Anathema scooped the book into the bag without ever touching its covers or spine, maneuvering it in and then tying it securely closed.

All three of them let out a sigh of relief when she tied it closed and appeared unharmed.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale close to his side again.

“I think it’s time to get you home, angel,” he said.

“My dear,” the angel replied, “that sounds wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written a fight scene before, and that was incredibly hard to do. Whoa. I hope you enjoyed seeing crowley kick some ass.
> 
> Crowley gets his powers will hellfire partly from the sheer adrenaline of saving his angel — like when a mother can lift the car off of her child — and partly from some extra power he has for being the serpent of Eden.


	6. Healing Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is cake and pancakes, and a healthy dollop of deep concern.

.  
.

“I believe someone said something about cake?” Aziraphale said with a smile as they walked back into the shop after the short drive home. Anathema and Crowley trailed after him, Anathema clutching the bag with the book in it to her chest. 

Crowley couldn’t help but grin. He was still concerned but if cake was the angel’s first thought, he couldn’t be doing too poorly. 

“Checkup first, then cake,” Crowley said, trying to appear stern, as he led the angel tenderly to the couch. “Sit.” 

Aziraphale sighed and did so. “Dearest, I’m fine, I wasn’t even there twenty-four hours. Let’s not overreact.”

Crowley frowned. “And approximately how much blood did you lose?” 

“You know it’s not the same for angels, Crowley,” the angel said. “It really doesn’t matter as long as it wasn’t ALL of it. I’ll replenish. It’s not like I can get anemic.” 

“How much?” Crowley repeated. 

“Well, I’d have to guess,” the angel said, turning his attention inward and trying to figure it out. “Approximately – five pints? Possibly a bit more?”

Anathema looked shocked. “That’s half!” she said. “Half of your blood. How are you standing?”

He shrugged. “I’m not human, my dear, you know that.” 

“Nonetheless,” Crowley said, “you’re taking it easy for a bit.” 

Aziraphale made a gesture of submission and smiled at his two caretakers, who seemed to marginally relax. He leaned back and unbuttoned his waist coat, looking contented. 

A second later he got up again. “I’ll just get some tea first, shall I?” he chirped brightly, heading towards the kitchen.

“SIT DOWN!” both Crowley and Anathema said in unison, then blinked at each other.

Aziraphale sat back down, amused. 

++

“That was quite impressive, my dear,” Aziraphale said as Anathema headed to the kitchen to gather the tea things. “You at the tube station, I mean. Fighting off that bastard. It was so hard to sit there frozen and not be able to help you! I was so afraid you were going to be hurt and I wouldn’t be able to stop it!” 

“I didn’t have time to try to free you,” Crowley said apologetically. “Had to move fast, not give him time to think up anything worse to try to do to either of us. As it was, I was lucky to take out one of his hands. He was more powerful than I expected.”

“Not as powerful as you,” Aziraphale said with a proud grin. 

Crowley cleared his throat self-consciously. “Well,” he said. “Right then. Glad that’s over. But really, how are you feeling?”

Aziraphale gave it a moment’s thought. “I feel tired. A little woozy,” he said. “But not too bad. I think I would be completely all right after a little snack…”

He gave Crowley a side-eyed glance of silent, pouting appeal. 

Crowley laughed. “Still angling for cake, then?” He snapped his finger and a platter full of individual cake slices of different types appeared in front of him. 

“Oh my!” Aziraphale said, delighted. “Enough for everyone!”

++

“I should probably head back to Tadfield,” Anathema said after the cake and tea had been depleted and everyone was a little too stuffed. “Newt will be wondering what happened to me.”

Aziraphale reached across the table to the armchair she was perched on and took her hands in his. “My dear girl,” he said, “I owe you such an immeasurable debt for helping out Crowley and me today. Thank you seems completely inadequate.” 

“It’s not, and you’re welcome,” Anathema said. “And I’m getting used to becoming embroiled in strange things with the two of you.” 

She sounded, the angel thought, as if it were truly no big deal to help rescue a supernatural entity from a magician, just something one might do on any random day of the week if you were an occultist who lived in the same village as the antichrist and had personally stopped the four horseman from initiating a multi-strike global nuclear assault. 

Then again, Aziraphale thought, maybe she had a point. 

Crowley walked her out to her car, which was parked close to the Bentley and under its spell of protection from tickets. He held the driver’s door open for her as she got in, then leaned down to speak to her through the open window. 

“Really, book-girl,” he said. “Thank you. You ever need my – our – help, just say the word. We owe you.” 

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. He found he didn’t mind it, this time. 

Crowley watched until she was safely down the road and around the corner. 

++

When he walked back in, he found Aziraphale at first trying to stifle a yawn; he soon gave up the pretense and openly yawned hard enough to nearly split his head in half. 

“Sorry, dear,” he said, before being hit with another enormous yawn. 

Crowley smiled softly. “I think we need to get you to bed.” 

The angel couldn’t argue with that in his current state. 

They headed upstairs, where Aziraphale was oddly touched as Crowley insisted on ridiculously helping him into his pajamas, standing by protectively while he brushed his teeth, and helping him into bed. The demon curled up beside him and pulled the angel into a tight hug. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” Crowley breathed against him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Do what?” Aziraphale protested. “It’s not like I summoned myself!”

“Even so,” the demon said, aware he was being nonsensical. He wrapped his arms a little more tightly, and Aziraphale was glad he didn’t _have_ to breathe. “Just say you won’t.”

The angel nuzzled his head into his shoulder. “I won’t, my dear.” 

Despite his usual aversion to sleep, the angel drifted off almost immediately. Crowley, however, laid awake long into the night, thinking about close calls and threats one could never foresee. 

++

The next morning Crowley was surprised to wake up before Aziraphale. That had only happened a small handful of times that he could recall. He rolled over and looked at his watch on the nightstand and discovered it was almost nine a.m. Aziraphale was sleeping peacefully. Was he pale? He looked a little pale. He really must have lost a lot of blood. 

He tried, he really tried, to stop himself. 

He failed. 

“Angel,” he said, giving Aziraphale a gentle poke. “Angel! You asleep?”

Aziraphale murmured something unintelligible and tried to roll away. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, louder, continuing to poke. “Wake up! It’s late!” 

“Oh you _are_ a pest, aren’t you?” Aziraphale said sleepily. “All right, I’m awake.” 

“It’s nine a.m., angel!” Crowley protested. “I was getting worried.” 

“It is?” Aziraphale said, sitting bolt upright. “How did I sleep so long?”

“I’m going to go down and make breakfast,” Crowley said. “What do you want?”

Aziraphale thought. “I don’t know – surprise me?” Then he grinned. “Or pancakes. One of the two.” 

Pancakes it was, then. Crowley got to work, determined to make the best blueberry pancakes the angel had ever had. He could hear the angel moving around upstairs, and if it took a little longer than usual for him to appear, that seemed like nothing to worry given the circumstances. Nonetheless, Crowley made a mental note of it. He’d simply have to nurse his angel back into health. 

Aziraphale came down the stairs and made a brief detour into the shop to retrieve an equally sleepy-looking Frederick before sitting down at the table. “I missed this little guy!” he said to Crowley.

_Definitely pale,_ Crowley thought. 

The angel poured a saucer of earl gray and set Frederick on the table where he could easily dip his tongue into it, then set about quietly sipping his own and watching Crowley finish cooking. 

“Here you go,” Crowley said, placing a plate heaped with pancakes, blueberries twinkling out of their steaming tops, in front of Aziraphale. It wasn’t quite the angel’s usual portion but it was pretty close. He’d run out of batter a little sooner than he’d planned after trying to flip two of them without a spatula – one was still stuck to the ceiling and the other hand landed on the side of the cupboard. 

Frederick, done with his tea, slithered up to curl around Aziraphale’s neck. 

WHERE’S MINE, SNAKEBIRD? he howled. 

“Snakes don’t eat pancakes,” Crowley said absentmindedly. 

I COULD LEARN! I’M NOT STUPID! YOU’RE STUPID! 

“Angel, the snake wants a bite of pancakes,” Crowley said. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows questioningly and Crowley nodded. “Please give him some, so he stops abusing me.”

The angel cut him a small piece and held it up to Frederick’s mouth. He sniffed it hesitantly, then flicked his tongue out to taste it. 

SMELLS WEIRD, the snake yelled. 

“Well of course it does, it’s a pancake. It’s not made of meat.” 

Frederick sighed and tried to swallow it. It did not go well. Several minutes of hurking, coiling snake later, he managed to cough it up onto the table top with a maximum of drama. 

Aziraphale petted him consolingly and the snake curled around his wrist again and looked up at Crowley. 

SOMETHING STILL SMELLS WEIRD, he shrieked. 

Crowley sighed and picked him up. “Then don’t eat any more of it, you ridiculous baby,” he said, taking him back to his basket. 

When he came back, Aziraphale had put down his fork and was folding up his napkin, despite eating only about half of his breakfast. 

“Don’t tell me the snake put you off your meal,” Crowley said. 

“No, not at all,” the angel said, his face a little drawn. “I’m just – not as hungry as I thought I was. Thank you, though, it was wonderful!”

Crowley watched the angel walk out towards his desk and sit down to start sorting through various record books. Since when had his angel ever not been able to finish a plate of pancakes? 

++

Crowley watched him like a hawk for the rest of the day. The angel seemed to rally a little with tea and cakes around mid-afternoon, but he remained low energy.

The demon watched him lifting his teacup without even extending his pinkie finger with his usual flair, when he suddenly realized something. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, suddenly serious. “Where is your sigil ring?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked down at his naked finger on his right hand. “Oh!” he said tiredly. “That bastard took it. And my phone. I’d forgotten.”

“You forgot – “ Crowley ran a hand over his face. “Don’t care about your phone. Phones can be replaced.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated. “It’s in the tube station office,” he said. “I can feel it.” Before Crowley could stop him he raised his hand and snapped downwards in his usual ‘pulling from heaven’ motion. There was a subtle shift in energies and the ring appeared in his hand with a bright gleam. 

“There,” he said with a ferocious little grin to Crowley. “All better.” He slipped it on his finger, looking smug, and then collapsed back against the seat cushion in fatigue. 

Crowley grabbed a large section of his hair and pulled. Hard. “Angel, have you lost your – how much energy did that take?” he snapped. 

“Just enough,” Aziraphale said. “Now stop fussing; I’m sure having the ring back will make me feel stronger.” 

Crowley hoped he was right. 

++

After a short walk, Aziraphale returned to bed and slept for another four hours before waking up again, and when he did, Crowley found him sitting heavily on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He knelt down in front of him and peeled the hands away. 

“Angel,” he said firmly, “tell me what’s going on. You’ve slept for fourteen of the last twenty hours. You couldn’t finish your breakfast. Are you sick? Did Sebastian hurt you more than I’m aware of?” 

“I’m just not feeling my best,” Aziraphale said, a grumpy expression on his face. “I’m not sure what’s wrong. I’m a little dizzy and everything feels like it’s moving a little bit.”

Crowley laid a hand on the angel’s forehead and found it warm. “Did Sebastian do anything to you besides take your blood? What all happened over the course of the day there?”

Aziraphale thought. “Well, he took my blood three times. And before the first time he threw me around a little bit, but I healed most of that.”

“What about all the scratches and scabs on your hands and knees?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I hit the ground hard a few times – once or twice from him, and at least once from my own efforts to get out. Just got scuffed up a bit.” 

“And was there anything else?” 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was gazing at him with intense worry in his eyes. He hated to concern him further for something he was pretty sure had been untrue. 

“Angel,” Crowley said warningly. “What is it? Don’t even _think_ about not telling me.” 

“He said he’d injected me with something,” Aziraphale admitted rather against his will. “When I first got there. But I think he was lying. I checked thoroughly and couldn’t find a puncture wound. And I saw no further evidence of it at all.” 

Crowley rocked back onto his heels and tried to bite down the hot surge of anger that soared up his solar plexus. 

He failed. 

“He injected you with something?” Crowley shouted. “And you didn’t think that JUST PERHAPS this might be some information that I would NEED TO KNOW?” 

Aziraphale flinched. This was also not his usual behavior, which worried Crowley even further. Healthy Aziraphale argued back; he didn’t flinch. Healthy Aziraphale took exactly zero amount of shit from his favorite demon. 

“I thought he was lying,” he finally said. “I did try to check.” 

Crowley stared at him in frustration and then grilled him on every detail of that conversation with Sebastian, and on pretty much everything else the magician had ever said. Then he repeated all of it to see if he could get Aziraphale to remember anything else. Then he started in on a third time, when the angel finally interrupted him. 

“Crowley,” he said plaintively. “Can we please stop? I’d like to go downstairs and maybe sit on the couch and read. There’s nothing else to tell you, I promise.” 

Crowley stared at him, still displeased, then pulled out his phone. “I’m calling Anathema,” he said. “Stay here.” 

++

The call was picked up on the third ring.

“Crowley!” she said, sounding unsurprised. “I had a feeling you were going to call. What can I do for you?”

“If Sebastian died,” Crowley said slowly, “will his spells still affect Aziraphale, or are they dead too?”

He could hear Anathema pulling out one of her kitchen chairs and sitting down. 

“Why? Is he okay?”

“Just answer the question, please?” Crowley said, barely managing to keep his frustration under control. 

Anathema organized her thoughts. “Some spells die with their casters – spells that require concentration, for one. But a lot of spells don’t – many of them have a duration and they just continue until the duration is complete. Or until they’re removed.” 

“What about objects, or potions?”

He could feel Anathema fighting the desire to ask questions. “Things that have been enchanted usually aren’t affected by the death of their maker – they usually stay unchanged. So talismans retain their power, and the magical sword stuck in the stone is still magic when someone pulls it out, etcetera, etcetera.” 

“Aziraphale’s not well,” Crowley said, “and he says Sebastian injected him with something.” 

“Not well how? And with what?” 

“He’s tired, he’s dizzy, he’s not eating… just not himself at all,” Crowley said, “and I think it’s getting worse. And he doesn’t know what it was, but he said the man told him it was something to make him more pliant.” 

He felt like he could hear Anathema biting a nail. “Pliant? Why would he need that with the summoning circle and the sigils?”

Crowley had a gut feeling about the answer. “It’s not easy to entrap someone as powerful as Aziraphale, if you’re a human, even with the sigils. He’s a cherub, after all. All those eyes. And he’s stubborn as all get out. Famous for it.” 

“So he needed something to break through a little further, so he could maintain control.” 

“Any idea what would do that?” Anathema asked. 

“No idea,” Crowley said. “I was hoping you might know. Since the person who could tell us is dead.” 

They agreed that she would come back up first thing in the morning to see if she could help. 

++

Aziraphale continued to sleep like the dead. He went to bed shortly after Crowley was off the phone, and woke up the next day in the late mid-morning, when the sun was almost fully overhead. He staggered downstairs dressed in trainers and jogging pants – jogging pants! If the angel ever wanted to pick out an outfit to deliberately terrify the demon, it was this one. His angel did not wear athleisure, period, full stop. 

The angel seemed out of temper and threw a bit of a fuss when Crowley informed him that Anathema was on her way back to London. A sick or injured angel, Crowley thought, was never a pleasure to deal with. Especially when the angel was his spoiled principality. 

“I’m quite all right, you infernal meddler,” Aziraphale snapped. “I’m just tired and busy remaking five pints of angelic ichor. It’s quite difficult, you know.” 

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, “but it’s not like we can take you to the doctor, so Anathema is going to take a look at you.” 

She arrived shortly after noon. From his perch on the couch, Aziraphale could hear them whispering at the front door. Frustrated, he got up and stalked over confront them both. 

“Now listen here,” he said with some heat. “I won’t have you whispering about me in corners like I’m some sort of child. If you’re discussing me, do it in front of me.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Aziraphale?” he admonished. “I’ve never seen you not greet a guest.” 

Aziraphale had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry, of course. Hello Anathema. I’m terribly sorry you’ve been dragged back down here. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” 

He did not look fine, Anathema thought. He looked feverish.

The demon marched him back to the couch and Anathema came to sit next to him. 

“I want to see if I can sense any spells at work on you,” she said. “May I touch you?” 

Aziraphale wasn’t much of a toucher, except with Crowley, but he indicated that he’d allow it. She urged him to lean back, then she laid both hands on his chest lightly. It felt like two small birds alighting on him, Aziraphale thought. Her touch was deft and gentle. 

“I can sense something magical – a spell or a potion.” She said finally. “I can’t tell you what it does.”

“Can you remove it?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I can try,” she said, “but the way we try to do that with humans might not work with you. Do you have an egg, to start with?”

Crowley got her whatever she requested, and they tried pulling the spell into the raw egg. They tried saltwater and incantations. They tried crystals and roses and sage. They tried chanting and singing and counter spells. In the end, Anathema sagged back into her seat with defeat.

“The only thing I can tell you is that something magical is weakening him, and quickly. I don’t know what.” She sounded frustrated. “It doesn’t seem to be tied to his physical body, so I can’t reach it.”

Crowley bolted up. “If it’s not in his corporeal body, it could be in his ethereal body! I can see his essence!”

“That’s a little personal, Crowley dear, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said peevishly. 

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley said lovingly. “You’re not thinking straight.”

Anathema felt his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said. “It’s affecting him like an infection.”

Crowley motioned for Anathema to change positions with him, and he sat down next to Aziraphale on the couch and leaned in, first to hug him tightly, then to pull back a little so their foreheads were resting together. With Aziraphale’s nod of permission, he stretched out into the ethereal plane and touched the angel’s being with his own. 

At first he thought nothing was wrong – the angel was shiny and golden and his wings were present and didn’t look harmed. But when he delved in deeper he could feel it. Something was swirling through the golden glow at Aziraphale’s center, something that looked like dust. It seemed to be leaching something away, bit by tiny bit. 

Crowley took his own essence and spread it comfortingly across Aziraphale’s, blending them together as they sometimes had in the past. The angel murmured softly and seemed comforted, then pushed him away. 

“Not in front of Anathema, dear,” he said with a weak smile. “That’s just for us…” And then he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. 

Crowley swallowed and his eyes met Anathema’s across the room. He wasn’t sure which of them looked more worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you the last chapter (possibly two, this might go to ten chapters) is entirely fluff! All fluff! Kittens! Balloons! Cute chubby babies! But boy is there some fun stuff coming up before that point. 
> 
> Thank you for reading - this story is literally consuming my brain right now! I will have updates on Saturday and Sunday for the next two very important chapters.


	7. Darkness Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley summons Rat, Anathema and Newt help with the angel, and Crowley forms a bold plan to save him.

The next morning, Aziraphale was difficult to wake and said little. Crowley had watched his fitful sleep through the night, awash in agonized worry, and he brought him a cup of hot tea in the morning to help him rouse. Aziraphale opened his eyes weakly and had to be helped to push up to a sitting position to drink it. He mostly shivered, and Crowley wrapped him up in all of the available blankets. 

“He’s getting worse,” Anathema said. 

“I’m aware,” the demon replied grimly. 

“What are we going to do?”

Crowley had a flash of insight.

“I need to talk to Rat,” he said. “Stay with him for a bit, okay? And call me if anything gets worse.” 

She agreed, and Crowley raced off to the office, where he poured a circle of salt on the angel’s beautiful rug and pulled out the feather he’d been granted. He quickly muttered through the incantations all demons knew for how to reach out to each other across metaphysical barriers and planes of existence. 

There was a puff of sulfur-smelling smoke and Rat appeared in the center of the circle, disheveled and confused. When he realized where he was, he morphed instantly from confused to absolutely terrified. 

“Dude, I didn’t _do_ anything!” he cried, falling to his knees. “I swear I didn’t tell anyone anything! Please don’t kill me!”

Crowley put his hands on his hips. “I know that, you fool. I just need to talk to you. Get up!” He sighed and made a show of rubbing out a bit of the salt circle so the demon could move about. 

Rat looked at him carefully, assessing, and finally stood back up. “Okay,” he said. “So what’s up, then?”

“I need to know what Sebastian did to Aziraphale.”

Rat looked confused. “He took his blood. I told you all about the book!”

“No, before that,” he said. “He injected him with something and it’s made him very sick. Do you know what it was?” 

Rat frowned. “No, not offhand. He never injected me with anything, that I know of.” 

Crowley all but deflated. 

“Hang on, though,” Rat said. “He _was_ working on some kind of potion when he first got hold of me. Part of the reason he got me was so I could get him ingredients he couldn’t get to himself.” 

Crowley perked up. “What did he send you off to get?”” 

“Stuff from Hell,” the lesser demon said. “Tar from the tarpits where souls were actively being tortured. Sulfur from the throne room. A lump of some kind of weird resin.”

“This is helpful,” Crowley said. “Do you know what the resin was?” 

“No,” Rat said, “but dude, I know where I got it. I can go grab another piece, if you want?” 

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. “You know I can call you right back here if you don’t show up, right?” 

Rat nodded fast. “Yeah man, I know.” 

“Okay,” Crowley said, “and I want you to do something else while you’re down there. Find out where Sebastian’s soul is being held and see if you can get him to tell you anything about how to release the spell.”

Rat blinked. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” he asked, momentarily forgetting his fears. “That guy is a bastard!” 

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, annoyed. “Lie to him? Offer him an end to his torment? You’re a demon! Figure it out!”

Rat sighed and agreed. Of course he was going to do whatever the fucking Serpent of Eden wanted, man. This was the opportunity of a lifetime to make a very powerful friend. He’d be the envy of all the demons in the copy pool – if he were ever allowed to talk about it, that is. 

“Be back in two hours or I’m going to bring you back myself,” Crowley warned.

“I know, I know,” the lesser demon said with a sigh. “And you will _not_ be happy.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow and sent him on his way. 

++

By mid-morning, the angel was no longer able to wake up at all. 

“Is he in a coma?” Crowley asked Anathema.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Should we take him to a hospital?”

“We can’t!” Crowley said, agonized. “As weak as he is, who knows what their attempts to help would do to him. Plus they’d quickly realize he’s not human on even the most cursory examination.”

Anathema nodded. “I don’t know what else to do,” she said. “I think we’re losing him.”

Crowley swallowed hard, feeling his throat close up and his heart seize inside his chest. This was not going to happen. He would not allow it. 

“I’m going to call Newt and have him bring up the couple of vials of holy water I’ve got in the cupboard,” Anathema said. “They might help, right?” 

“Good idea,” Crowley said grimly. “I should have thought of that.” 

Anathema went off to make the phone call.

“Tell him to hurry,” Crowley called after her. 

++

Crowley was desperate enough, as he knelt on the floor beside his gray-faced love, to try anything. He clutched Aziraphale’s hand and bent over it, first kissing it softly, and then just holding it to his forehead in a haze of pain. 

How could this be happening? He thought dimly. Just a few days ago, they were fine! They were better than fine.

He found himself closing his eyes and focusing very hard on what he remembered from the feeling of grace, so long ago. He couldn’t remember it clearly, but a part of him, he knew, still held on to a distant memory of it. 

_God,_ Crowley said, his eyes squeezed shut tight as he pressed into Aziraphale’s burning hand, _you ineffable bastard. Are you there? I want you to listen to me. _

_You can’t KILL him. _

_He’s dying. He’s the best of them, your angels, he’s the only one of them worth anything at all! He’s the only one who truly loves your creation. He loves everything, so god damn much. _

_I’m sorry, I shouldn’t swear. But I’m so fucking mad at you. How can you let him die because some imbecile human decided he wanted to take over Heaven? _

_You have to SAVE him. He’s the only person in the entire history of the world who has ever known me. Who has ever loved me. I can’t do this without him. Don’t make me._

Crowley sat up, looking up at the ceiling of the shop, unsurprised to find his cheeks wet. He gathered his intentions and his power and made his best attempt at a bargain. 

_I will do **anything**,_ he said. _I will give you **anything**. You name it, it’s yours. No questions asked. Take me instead -- my life. My soul, or what’s left of it. Take it all, I don’t care about any of it. Just please, God, if you ever loved any of us even the tiniest little bit – don’t do this. Give me something, just this once. _

He thought for a moment, then frowned. 

_If he dies, _ he added, _I will never, ever, ever forgive you._

Crowley felt the hairs on his arms stand up, and he felt a wavy sense of vertigo for just a second, filling him with a wild hope. It was like a soft, loving hand passing over him, just for a millisecond – and then it was gone. 

He turned and looked at Aziraphale again, laying a hand on his forehead.

He was still burning. His breathing was labored. His face was gray. Crowley knelt and watched him closely, looking for any change, any sign of improvement – anything at all. He honestly felt like his prayer had been heard. Surely something would change? Something? 

The demon sat unmoving for over an hour, watching and waiting. The angel’s breath continued to wheeze and rattle. His skin continued to burn. His eyes, when Crowley peeled one open to look, were yellowed. 

Absolutely nothing happened. Crowley felt something small and hopeful in him harden up and drop like a stone, the last of his illusions gone. God, whatever her game was, did not care about either of them. Not at all. 

He was on his own. 

++

“Crowley, that demon is in the office again,” Anathema said, coming into the bedroom. “He’s asking for you and looking very nervous.”

Crowley looked at her as if he wasn’t even hearing her. He looked, she thought, like someone so utterly struck by grief that he couldn’t even think. 

“Is he –” she asked, unable to even finish the thought. She stared at Aziraphale, trying to see if his chest was moving. 

“Oh!” Crowley said, shaking himself out of his stupor. “No, he’s not. He’s the same.” 

Anathema laid a hand on his shoulder. “Go talk to Rat,” she said. “I’ll sit with him.” 

++

Rat was investigating one of the bookshelves in the office when Crowley walked in.

“What did you find?” the demon asked. 

Rat thrust a small bag in is hand. “This is the resin,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is. Smells like forest.” 

“Great, thank you, I’m sure that will help,” Crowley said tonelessly. “And Sebastian?” 

“I found him, but he wasn’t in much shape to talk,” Rat said. “Dude, he was upside down in the tar pits. It was awesome!” 

Crowley stared at him blankly. 

“Okay, serious mode, I get that,” Rat said. “So anyways, you were right that the dude would do anything for the hint of relief. He couldn’t remember the details about the potion – that dude is barking mad, by the way – but he did say the only way to lift the spell is to destroy the book. They’re linked.” 

“Finally!” Crowley said. “Some useful information! Thank you, Rat. Well done.” 

Rat visibly preened. 

“How do we destroy the book when we can’t touch it?” Crowley asked. 

“Well, I’m not sure,” Rat said, “but he wanted the book to destroy the archangels with, right?” 

“Yeah, and?”

“Would kind of make sense that they’re the only ones powerful enough to destroy the book, in turn, wouldn’t it?”

Crowley groaned. It did make sense. What the fuck was he going to do now?

++

He thanked the star-struck Rat and sent him on his way with a promise to owe him a favor, and then went back up to find both Anathema and Newt, who had just arrived from Tadfield, in the bedroom with Aziraphale. _God, he looks terrible_, he heard Newt say to Anathema as he rounded the corner into the room. 

“Hi,” Newt said, holding out a bag to him. “I brought the holy water.” 

“Thanks,” Crowley said, “but you know I can’t touch that, right?”

Newt, embarrassed, blushed and stammered until Anathema rescued him by taking the small velvet bag from him. She opened it and pulled out two small vials, each about the size of a large perfume bottle, with old fashioned cork stoppers and purple glass. 

“We’re sure about the provenance of this water?” Crowley said.

“It’s from the local parish church,” Newt replied. “Bottled it myself a couple of months ago.”

Not super powerful, then, Crowley thought, compared to some other sources of holy water, but then again it couldn’t hurt. And anything that would slow things down or make Aziraphale stop deteriorating so rapidly was worth a try. 

Crowley gathered him up into a sitting position, supporting the angel upright, while Anathema uncapped the first bottle and tipped it into his mouth a little at a time. Crowley, trying to control his instinctual urge to be far, far away from the bottle and its contents, contented himself with cringing backwards and making sure no drops could fall anywhere near him. 

“Let’s save the other bottle,” he said, “in case we need it later.” 

++

They all watched Aziraphale for the next half hour. He didn’t immediately revive, but he did seem to rest more easily, and his fever went down a few degrees. He remained, however, fully unconscious. Crowley had hoped the results would be more dramatic, but he didn’t really think some low-level, human-made holy water would fix everything. He was going to need something stronger, in this case. 

“He looks a little better,” Anathema said.

“He does,” Crowley agreed. “And that’s good. Because I need a very big favor.” 

“Of course,” she said. 

“I need you and Newt to stay with him for a while, take care of him for me. I have to go see someone about solving this problem, and it’s going to take a few hours.” 

Anathema gazed at him appraisingly for a moment. She could see from the look on his face that this was serious, likely dangerous, and something he did not want to discuss.

Newt, wisely, faded into the background as the tension in the room grew.

“You’re about to do something Aziraphale would be really upset about, aren’t you?” she finally asked. 

Crowley’s eyes were dark and intent. “Yes.”

“Will it save him?” 

“It’s our best shot.”

A moment. Then she smiled. “Good luck, then. I’ll keep him safe for you.” 

He didn’t smile back but he visibly relaxed just a fragment. 

“I do need one other thing,” he said. “But Newt can help me with that.” 

++

Crowley clutched the briefcase Newt had helped him put together tightly as he walked into the office tower where Heaven and Hell’s administrative offices were housed. He paused in the lobby and took out a small vial of hellfire and used an incantation he’d researched briefly one of Aziraphale’s demonic books to spread it across the outer surface of his corporation, until he was wreathed in a thin layer of flame. It nipped and crackled comfortingly, warming him up significantly. 

Just like the nonstick coating on a pan, he thought with grim humor. Nothing angelic could stick to him now. 

That set, he squared his shoulders and stepped onto the escalator going up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is the last dark chapter - and chapter 8 is coming very soon! Already written, just being edited, definitely up before the end of the weekend. :)


	8. In The Fields of the Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley storms the gates of Heaven, and makes a bargain of his own.

Crowley emerged into the anteroom of Heaven. Like so much of Above, the anteroom was large, with soaring ceilings and crisp white walls, devoid of personality, and entirely freezing. It was also largely empty, which was a plus. He took a look around to orient himself and strode through the door at the far end into what appeared to be a large, open reception hall. 

There were angels milling about here. It was a moment before anyone noticed him, but when they did there were dramatic sounds of consternation and murmurings from all sides. He strode through, ignoring all of them, until he got to the exact center of the room. 

One angel gathered his courage and stepped forward to greet him, standing a few feet away from the small flames licking off the demon’s body. He looked both outraged and thoroughly intimidated. 

“Can I help you?” he asked officiously. 

“GABRIEL,” Crowley bellowed. “I need to speak to Gabriel RIGHT BLOODY NOW.” 

The angel took a step back. He turned to look at one of his less brave companions. “Go,” he said. “Fetch Gabriel.”

They continued to stare at each other with icy disdain for the few minutes it took for anything to happen. Finally, he heard the click of Gabriel’s pretentious, shiny loafers coming from the other end of the hall, and he finally got a look at the utter prick. 

Gabriel did not look pleased to see him. 

“Demon Crowley,” he said with a fake and completely unconvincing smile. “You know you shouldn’t be here.” 

“You can’t touch me, Gabriel, and you know it,” Crowley snapped dismissively. “And I’m here for something that is very much in your best interest.” 

Gabriel glared at him and said nothing. 

“I’d recommend we discuss this somewhere more private,” Crowley said. “You do not want everyone hearing what I have to say.” 

“Fine,” Gabriel huffed. “Come with me.” 

He turned and strode away without even checking to see if Crowley was behind him. Crowley took a moment to hiss at a few of the lesser angels still milling nearby, then stalked off after him. 

++

Gabriel led him to an office, large and flamboyant, exactly what he would have expected from such a prig. There was an extremely ornate desk, elaborate wall hangings, and most amusing, an enormous, gilt-edged mirror that Crowley knew instantly the archangel used to check his outfits and admire himself. 

What he did not expect was the presence of the other three archangels. Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were all there to greet him. They stepped back and clustered behind the desk as he entered, allowing his flaming self a little extra room. 

“Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon,” he said, in greeting. “I’m here to make a deal with you.” 

Gabriel stepped behind the desk and sat in his fussy, elaborate chair. “And what would you have to offer us that we could possibly want?” 

Crowley placed the briefcase down on the large flat desk and opened it carefully. Inside was the book. It gleamed most unpleasantly in the light. 

“I’d suggest you don’t touch it,” he said. “This book was designed to kill you.” 

Uriel and Sandalphon took a step back. Gabriel and Michael leaned in and peered at it. “It feels evil,” Michael affirmed. “But what is it and why are we supposed to believe you?”

Crowley explained it to them as succinctly as he could. How they’d taken it from a wannabe warlock, how he’d used angel and demon blood to power the book, what had happened to Aziraphale as a result. 

“So,” Sandalphon said with a sneer, “you need the book destroyed, to save your stupid boyfriend, and you come to _us_?” 

Crowley took a second to imagine all the ways he’d like to injure Sandalphon. He thought he’d start by ripping out each of his ridiculous gold teeth. The archangel must have read something of it on his face, because he folded his arms over his chest and glared defiantly. 

“You need this book destroyed as much as I do,” Crowley growled. “This book is a weapon! Did you even know there was a spellbook floating around on earth that contained magic that could kill all of the archangels? Were ANY of you even the slightest bit aware of that?” 

Michael, at least, had the decency to look a little embarrassed by that. “No,” she admitted. “We didn’t.” 

“Listen to me,” Crowley said, “and listen well. This is a one-time offer, and it has to be done now. If you wait for the book to kill Aziraphale before you take action, or if you hem and haw and get all bureaucratic and he just ‘accidentally’ dies first, then the deal is off. No book.” He made eye contact with each of them in turn, convincing them of his sincerity. “I will take it, and I will work with my human witch friends to read it, and I will have in my hands a fully operational weapon that could decimate heaven. I will kill each and every one of you motherfuckers who could have saved him and didn’t.”

Even Gabriel paled. “It doesn’t need to come to that, demon –”

Crowley raised his hand to snapping position, a posture they were all intimately familiar with, and sent a quick prayer out to the universe. This was the moment. This the end, or the beginning, of everything. 

“I don’t have time to wait for your bullshit,” he said. He fastened his eyes particularly hard on Sandalphon, who was quietly trying to palm something he had removed from his coat pocket. “Answer now, or the book and I are gone before you can do anything with that vial of holy water I see you sneaking out of your pocket, you gigantic, pustulent, shit-heel.” 

“Sandalphon!” Gabriel admonished, sounding a little desperate. “May I remind you that I am in charge here?”

Sandalphon grimaced and laid the bottle on the desk and stepped away from it. Crowley shot a little flare of hellfire at it from his fingertip and everyone behind the desk jumped back as it exploded and disappeared. 

“So?” he said. “What’s your answer? You have three seconds. Three -- two –”

“Okay, okay!” Gabriel said. “We’ll do it. The demon is right, this book needs to disappear from existence.” 

The archangels conferred briefly, and then by mutual agreement arrayed themselves around the desk, facing the briefcase. They had just raised their hands and begun to concentrate on combining their powers into a joint pool of angelic might when suddenly, a bright blue-gold light filled the room from above. 

Everyone froze. 

++

“ANGELS. DEMON CROWLEY.” The ineffable and lovely voice of God drifted down from the ceiling. 

“Finally!” Gabriel said. “Someone with some sense to intervene in this ridiculous –”

“BE QUIET,” the voice admonished in a motherly tone. “DEMON CROWLEY,” she continued. “I WILL PAUSE THESE ANGELS SO THAT YOU AND I CAN SPEAK IN PEACE.”

Crowley stared, awestruck, as the four archangels simultaneous looked up and then froze in place, each of their faces a rictus of astonishment or, in Gabriel’s case, outrage. 

There was a flash of light, and Crowley found himself seated on a park bench, in an overly technicolor recreation of St. James’ Park, with a small, old woman in a grey wool overcoat seated beside him. She had her pure white hair pulled back under a scarf somewhat reminiscient of the Queen of England. She pulled out a small bag of what appeared to be breadcrumbs and scattered them to the oddly enhanced ducks in front of them. 

“I – I—” Crowley stammered, absolutely dumbstruck. “You – You’re ---”

The old woman turned and smiled at him with eyes that were as shockingly blue as Aziraphale’s. “My Crowley,” she said kindly. “Yes I am.” 

Crowley swallowed hard, feeling so many conflicting urges that he didn’t know where to start. Laugh hysterically? Burst into tears? Beat against her with his fists? He stared into her eyes feeling each of these things make their way across his face, being instantly absorbed and understood and absolved by the creature in front of him, who stared back placidly. 

“I heard your prayers,” she said. “I’ve always heard you.”

Crowley couldn’t help it, he felt the anger boil up inside him. “You – You’ve been LISTENING? All this time? You threw me out of heaven for – for NOTHING, for asking questions, I never hurt anyone and it destroyed me and – and you’ve been listening? You – you utter bastard…”

He froze, realizing what he’d just said and to who, and closed his eyes while silently waiting to be destroyed. His last conscious thought was sorrow that he wouldn’t be able to make it back to help Aziraphale. 

He felt a tear leaking down his cheek, then another. Traitorous bloody eyes, he thought.

Crowley felt the softest of touches on his cheek, wiping one away. “My dear,” the woman said softly, “I can’t explain to you all of what I’ve used you for, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. But I needed you, where and how you were, all these centuries. You’ve performed so perfectly.”

Crowley opened his eyes, confused beyond all understanding, and just stared into the woman’s eyes. “This was all some kind of BLOODY PLAN?” he gulped out. 

She shushed him and leaned forward to press a kiss on his forehead. He was surprised it didn’t burn. 

“Ineffable,” he said with some degree of bitterness. “Of course.” 

“Your love for the angel has moved me deeply,” she said. “You truly love him, do you not?”

He blinked and the anger fell away like sugar melting in the rain. 

“Of course I do,” he said, his eyes continuing to leak treacherous tears. “He’s the only person in the universe who has ever loved me. And even if he didn’t, I’d love him just the same. He’s – he’s the best thing you’ve ever created.” 

The woman looked at him with a sad smile. “He was one of my better works, I must admit,” she said. “He’s never disappointed me. Not once.”

Crowley smiled a little through his tears. “Can I please remember this so I can tell him that?”

The woman laughed. “You may. He’d like that.” 

She sat back and turned to face him more fully. 

“I heard your offer, in the shop yesterday,” she said. “I’m here to accept it.” 

Crowley’s heart stopped. “You’re --- you’re going to help me?”

“I am,” she said. “You would do anything to save him, would you not?”

“I would.”

“Then let it be so,” she said. “But there’s a price.” 

“Done,” he said rashly. “Whatever it is, it’s done. Take it. Take anything. Just save him.” 

She looked at him gravely. “That’s not how it works,” she said, impossibly gentle. “You must hear the price and knowingly agree to it, or it cannot be done. You must give your full consent.”

He took a deep, quivering breath. “All right. Tell me your terms.”

“Your witch friend’s law of equivalent exchange is a good framework to think about this through,” she said smiling. “You want Aziraphale’s life returned to him, healthy and whole. You must give something of equivalent value.” 

Crowley paled. “Of course,” he said slowly. “You want to kill me.”

“No, of course not you foolish demon,” she said. “To save the angel and kill you would be to relegate him to a hell of his own making. I love you both too much to do any such thing.”

“Then what do you want?” he said, thoroughly lost.

“You must give up your powers,” she said tenderly. “You will still be alive, and you will still be immortal, but your magic will be lost to you forever.”

_Oh_, Crowley thought. _Is that all._

It was truly nothing, he realized, in the larger scope of his love for and his life with Aziraphale. It was a bargain he would have paid a hundred times over.

“You will no longer have any powers to perform miracles, shape shift, or otherwise affect reality,” she continued. “Will you become powerless for your angel?” 

“I’ve always been powerless for him,” he said quietly, heart laid bare. “This is no different.” 

She smiled at him with great warmth. 

“I consent,” Crowley said. “Go ahead.”

A swirl of light surrounded him and it was gentle when it happened; he felt his powers one moment, and the next minute they gently slipped away. 

++

A second later he was back in the office, and Gabriel and the others were unfrozen and staring at him in utter shock. He was aware that his protective wreath of flames was gone, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned. He would live or he would die – the matter was out of his hands.

“YOU WILL HELP HIM,” the disembodied voice of God says, “GIVE HIM WHAT HE REQUIRES AND ALLOW HIM TO LEAVE UNHARMED.”

The four archangels gaped at the ceiling. 

Only Michael found the courage to respond. “Yes, lord,” she said tremulously. 

“NONE OF YOU WILL TOUCH THEM. THIS ANGEL AND THIS DEMON ARE MINE AND MINE ALONE. SWEAR TO IT, ALL OF YOU, IN A BINDING OATH.”

They did, looking thoroughly cowed. 

The voice instructed them to link their hands and focus on the book; she would empower them to fully destroy it. They complied, and after a moment’s focus, the book burst into flame and burned completely. It disappeared from existence with a pop. 

Crowley scanned the desk where it had been sitting and was left with a sense of – absolutely nothing. His shoulders dropped in relief. 

“GOODBYE, MY BELOVED DEMON,” the voice said, tenderly. “WE WILL NOT SPEAK AGAIN.”

The light disappeared, and the four archangels turned to look at him in complete disbelief. 

“You – you’re –” Gabriel, the smug bastard, did not look smug any longer. He cleared his throat and tried to form a coherent thought. “You’ll be going then, I assume?” he said, straightening his tie in a clear attempt to regain his dignity.

“I will,” Crowley said, fully aware he looked a little stunned himself. “Uh, thank you, I guess, for the help.” 

“Don’t come back here,” Gabriel said. “You can’t just come waltzing up here whenever you want, you know.” 

Crowley waved a hand at him dismissively. “Like I’d want to,” he said. He turned and headed for the door, leaving the briefcase on the desk. Let them clean it up. 

“Oh,” he said, turning around at the door. “Michael.”

Michael looked up, her gaze more curious than afraid. “Yes?”

“I need one more thing,” the demon said. “And I need you to bring it down for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more long chapter, one short chapter, and we are finished! Thank you for all your comments and enthusiasm for this story!


	9. A Return and a Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley returns triumphant, Freddy gets his I-told-you-so moment, and an archangel has a task to perform.

Anathema leapt to her feet with a look of sheer relief when Crowley appeared in the bedroom door upon returning from Heaven. 

“His fever broke,” she announced. “Just a little bit ago. He’s not awake yet, but he’s improving.” She noticed Michael standing behind him and got a strange look on her face. “Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there.”

Michael nodded solemnly. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Anathema said carefully. “But I can tell that you’re powerful.”

“Good,” Michael said, dismissively. “We need to see the angel. Step aside.”

_Sorry_, Crowley mouthed at her, rolling his eyes. 

The two of them approached the bed. Crowley sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek. It was true, the heat from his fever was gone, and his skin was returning to its usual flush rather than the sickly gray it had been. He was breathing evenly and not appearing in any type of real distress. 

Crowley hadn’t fully believed it until he saw it, no matter what he had been told. He sagged in relief. 

“Step aside, demon,” Michael said, officiously but not unkindly. “I will administer it.”

“Administer what?” Anathema asked from the side of the room, refusing to be cowed. 

“Holy water,” Crowley said. “The holiest. Straight from the source.” 

Michael took out a small vial and cradled Aziraphale’s head to her chest while she brought the bottle to his lips. She tipped it up and he swallowed it easily. She recapped it, then stood aside and let Crowley resume his position. 

“Aziraphale,” he called softly, taking his hand. “Wake up for me. Come on.”

The room fell into a hush for a long beat, then another, then one more, and then finally – finally – Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Hello, love,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

Crowley let out a strangled sob and pulled the angel to his chest. Michael and Anathema stepped back to give them space for a moment. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a dramatic stage whisper. “WHY IS MICHAEL HERE?”

The demon laughed. “That is a very long story, my love. I will fill you in, I promise.”

Aziraphale looked him deeply in the eye, and ultimately finding nothing but love and trust, decided it wasn’t worth worrying over right now. He yawned and stretched. 

“How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Off and on for three or four days,” Crowley said. “Mostly on, the last 48 hours.” 

Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley’s cheek. “Oh my dear,” he said, “I can see how worried you’ve been. But I feel right as rain now! Peckish, maybe.” He looked around hopefully for a snack. 

“Snacks can wait,” Crowley said. “There’s something I want you to do for me, first.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Anything, my dear. What is it?”

“Marry me,” Crowley said. 

“I am, silly,” Aziraphale said, weakly pulling his hand with the engagement ring out from under the covers and wiggling it at the demon. “Remember?”

“No,” Crowley said. “I mean marry me right now. I don’t want to wait another minute. Michael can officiate, right Michael?”

Michael cleared her throat. “This is most irregular –” she began.

“I think we can agree it’s been a most irregular day,” Crowley said. “Will you do it?”

“Will you let me go home if I do?”

“Yes.”

Michael sighed. “Fine, then.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, watching this exchange without understanding most of it. “Crowley, what’s going on?” he asked again. 

“Michael has been ordered to give us whatever help we need,” he said. “And what I need now is to be married to you, immediately.”

“But,” Aziraphale said, “August 13th… and Kew Gardens… and the cake…”

“I don’t give a flying you-know-what about any of that,” Crowley said. “I care about _you_ and nothing else.”

“You can care about the cake a _little_, dear, I won’t mind,” Aziraphale chided, a smile beginning to bloom on his face. 

Crowley grinned back. “So? Is that a yes?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Of course it is, my dear. You know I never cared about any of the trappings of it to begin with.”

The demon helped Aziraphale up into a sitting position at the edge of the bed and sat down next to him. Anathema and Newt volunteered to be witnesses, and a bemused-looking archangel made short work of walking them through an abbreviated wedding ceremony. There was no sermon. There was no reading. 

What there was, in overwhelming quantities, was love.

“Do you, Crowley, take this angel Aziraphale to be your lawful wedded husband, to love and to cherish for as long as you both shall live?” Michael asked. “And let me remind you that, in your case, this is a very long time, so please be certain.” 

Crowley smiled tremulously at Aziraphale, feeling almost overcome by the moment. “I do.”

“Do you, Aziraphale, take this demon Crowley to be your lawful wedded husband, to love and to cherish for as long as you both shall live? Same addendum.” Michael asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes were wet and he looked impossibly soft, yet completely sure of himself. “I do,” he replied. 

“Do you have rings?” the archangel asked. 

They looked at each other for a moment, not having thought of that detail yet, and then by unspoken agreement they each removed their engagement rings and exchanged them. 

“Repeat after me.” Michael said to Crowley. 

“No,” Crowley said, “I’ve got this part. Don’t need to repeat anything.”

He took Aziraphale’s hand and slid the smoky quartz ring back onto his finger, where it belonged. He looked up to find the angel staring at him with intense devotion, and the words just came. 

“With this ring, I marry you and bind my life to yours. I give you this ring as a symbol of my eternal love, my everlasting friendship, and a promise of all our tomorrows.”

Aziraphale, hands shaking, reached for Crowley’s hand. He slid Crowley’s platinum ring back onto his fourth finger, then looked up, blue eyes intense. 

“With this ring, I marry you and bind my life to yours. I give you this ring as a symbol of my eternal love, my everlasting friendship, and a promise of all our tomorrows.”

“By the power vested in me by, well, God herself,” Michael said, “I pronounce you husbands in the eyes of God and man, Heaven and Hell.”

“And now we get to kiss,” Crowley said, leaning in and planting a tender kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. 

He heard Michael sigh and step backwards, washing her hands of this whole sordid affair. Only Anathema noticed a look of slight affection in her eyes, before she disappeared back to Heaven. 

++

Shortly thereafter, Aziraphale shooed everyone but Crowley out. They took a moment just to sit, heads together, enjoying the glow of having found themselves married so suddenly. 

“You have the best ideas, my dear,” Aziraphale said, nuzzling against his shoulder.

Crowley tipped the angel’s head up for a kiss. “I just had to,” he said softly. “Almost lost you, angel. Makes you realize what actually matters, you know?”

Aziraphale kissed back, his face glowing with happiness. “I do,” he said, enjoying the echo from a few minutes ago. 

The angel decided he needed a quick shower to freshen up before joining their guests. Crowley hovered by nervously, all but handing him the soap each time he needed it, and wrapped him in a towel as soon as he came out. 

“I’m fine, love,” the angel said to him. “Really. All my blood is back in place, my fever is gone. I feel a little weak, maybe, but I’m perfectly all right.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Crowley muttered, planting a kiss on the angel’s shoulder as he combed out his hair in the mirror. 

“Husband,” Aziraphale said softly, catching his eye in the mirror. 

Crowley swallowed, the feelings almost too big to process, before burying his face in the angel’s shoulder with a mumbled sound that was mostly consonants. He felt rather than heard the angel’s affectionate laughter.

++ 

They headed downstairs a few minutes later, where Anathema and Newt were waiting. 

“Are you ever going to tell me about what you did today?” Anathema asked Crowley, while Newt and Aziraphale went off to the kitchen to see what kind of food was around. 

“I will,” Crowley said. “But not until I can explain it all to Aziraphale first.” 

Anathema nodded. “I understand. Looks like it must be a really good story, though,” she said. 

Crowley looked at her, wondering what she could sense from looking at him. Had his aura changed? Did he look different? He hoped it wasn’t immediately apparent as he was hoping to ease the angel into the full knowledge of what he’d done. 

“Don’t worry,” Anathema said, reading him a bit to easily for comfort. “Whatever it is, he’ll accept it.” 

“You’re a little scary, sometimes, book girl,” Crowley said, one corner of his mouth turned up into a half a grin. “I’m not used to having friends. You know. Other than Aziraphale.”

She smiled. “Well now you have two. You better start getting used to it.” 

++ 

“Look everyone, we found cake!” Aziraphale said, bringing out the tray from earlier in the week, which still contained several slices of cake samples which had miraculously stayed fresh as new over the events of the last few days. 

Crowley counted and realized Aziraphale had augmented the leftover slices with at least a half dozen new specimens, and he thanked his lucky stars that Aziraphale had seen fit to do this himself, rather than hint around for Crowley to magic up some cake for them. 

“Oh, I’m _starving_,” Anathema groaned. “I hadn’t realized!” 

Crowley pulled chairs around the coffee table and ushered Anathema and Newt into good seats before going off to the kitchen to dig into the champagne reserves they always kept on hand. He came back out with four goblets and a bottle of old, expertly aged champagne. 

“Let’s have a toast,” he said, popping the cork with practiced ease and pouring them each a glass. “To Aziraphale’s recovery.” 

“And to your marriage,” Newt added. “May it be long and happy.”

Everyone raised their glasses and quickly set into their feast of cake and bubbles. 

++

An hour later, after Newt and Anathema had hugged them both and offered their congratulations and accepted their thanks, Crowley and Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch in the office and officially took a breath. 

Aziraphale leaned back tiredly. “It’s been quite a week, hasn’t it?” 

Crowley sighed. “Definitely. Let’s not do this again anytime soon.”

“I am sorry, though,” Aziraphale said, “about the wedding. I know how much you were looking forward to all of it. And you’d been working so hard!”

Crowley waved a hand. “It’s nothing, Aziraphale, just bells and whistles.” He paused, struck by a thought. “Although…”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why don’t we just keep all the bookings? And instead of doing a wedding, we’ll just throw ourselves a big ‘hey we got married’ party? We can still do it at the gardens and keep the cake and the flowers and the food – we just won’t need a ceremony. We can dance.” 

Aziraphale grinned. “That,” he said, “is an excellent idea! I love it.”

“Well I am a bit of a genius,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale eased himself up to his feet and picked up the crumb-covered tray to take back to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” Crowley said. “You’re still recuperating. Sit down.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t care,” Crowley said stubbornly. “Give it to me or I’m going to wrestle it out of your hands. And I’ll make some tea while I’m in there. The old-fashioned way.”

The angel gave up, not wanting to argue about anything so pointless right now. 

Crowley took things to the kitchen and set about boiling water in the kettle and putting a simple tea tray together with all of their favorites. As an afterthought, he added an extra saucer and went out to pick up Frederick on his way back into the office. 

Crowley crouched down next to Frederick’s cage, which was currently in the back room next to a heat lamp. 

“Hi there,” he said, curious if he would still be able to hear the snake’s thoughts. “Can you say something to me, please?”

WHAT, DO YOU THINK I’VE FORGOTTEN HOW TO SPEAK, YOU RIDICULOUS POINTY IDIOT? Frederick shrieked. 

Crowley broke into a grin. Thank whoever. Apparently his communication with the snake relied on Frederick’s psychic abilities and their shared DNA, and not his own powers. 

HOW IS HE? the snake yelled. 

Crowley blinked. “You mean Aziraphale?”

YES I MEAN AZIRAPHALE – ARE YOU JUST SLOW? HE’S SICK, RIGHT? I MEAN NO ONE HAS VISITED ME FOR DAYS AND DAYS! 

“He’s better!” Crowley said. “I’ll take you to see him, all right?” 

YOU LOOK DIFFERENT, Frederick added. 

“Now you hush up about that,” Crowley admonished. “I’ll tell him, but not right now.” 

FINE WHATEVER. I DON’T HAVE THE PANTOMINE SKILLS TO SPELL IT OUT FOR THE FLUFFY MORON ANYWAYS. 

Crowley was too pleased to be offended. 

++

“Frederick!” Aziraphale said with delight when Crowley reappeared. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

Frederick did his best not to break into the snake version of a smile – he had a reputation to uphold, after all. But he did accept being handled by his fluffy friend and coiled around his arm, sniffing carefully, and the slithered up to his neck where he scented again. 

HE SMELLS BETTER NOW, Frederick hissed to Crowley. 

“What? What do you mean?” Crowley said. 

HE WAS SICK BEFORE. I TRIED TO TELL YOU, YOU BLOCKHEAD. SMELLED WRONG.

Crowley closed his eyes. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did he ever listen to anyone? Freddy had known before he did that something was wrong with the angel, and when he tried to tell him, he just put him back in his cage like an idiot. 

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked mildly. 

“Freddy knew you were sick, the other day in the kitchen. He tried to tell me. I thought he was complaining about the smell of the pancakes when he was talking about the fact that _you_ smelled wrong.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, running a finger down the snake’s scales in a way he knew Frederick liked. “Aren’t you a clever little snake,” he cooed. “Such a smart boy.”

Frederick flicked his tongue out at Crowley and looked almost unbearably smug.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You _are_ going to tell me about what happened when I was sick, aren’t you?”

Crowley swallowed and threaded their hands together and squeezed. “I am,” he said. “I promise. But please, can we just take a day or two to enjoy being married first?” 

Aziraphale squeezed back and let it slide for now.

++ 

The next few days passed slowly and peacefully, with Aziraphale continuing to need a little extra rest but looking better and better with each day that passed. He had moved straight from illness into love-drunk mode, just radiating contentment on their new situation in every moment of the day. Crowley found himself the beneficiary of innumerable sudden hugs, passing touches, and lovely little niceties like being handed a glass of really excellent wine right as he was just beginning to realize he wanted one or finding a blanket being tucked around his lap just as he started to notice he was cold. There was nothing, he thought, in the world better than a happy angel. 

Crowley, for his part, spent his time doting on his new husband as much as he could, often with a ridiculous smile on his face, and also beginning to take a barometer reading on his new situation when he was alone. 

He was, as predicted, powerless. Oddly enough, though, he couldn’t say he really minded all that much. He was surprised to find himself without resentment about the change; he had chosen it freely, after all, and he couldn’t begin to make himself regret the trade. A few magic tricks for Aziraphale’s life. It would never not be worth it. 

It was, however, surprising how often he found himself having to change his routines as a result. For one thing, he was now finding it almost impossible to get his usual black leather trousers on and off. He’d never had to put them on manually before, preferring to just snap his fingers and materialize them into (and out of) place. Trying to snug his feet through those tight legs and pull them up now, without powers, was next to impossible. How did humans do this? He suspected there must be some kind of device like a shoe horn, but devised for trousers, that fashionable men with slim-fit jeans were using and which he didn’t know anything about.

_Mental note_, he told himself, _look up “trouser-horn” on the internet at the next opportunity._

He had also quickly noted that he now needed to charge his phone instead of just willing it to work perfectly forever. This required a quick trip to a local electronics shop to purchase a charger, as he’d long since thrown his own out. And the prospect of a quick trip to the shop required him to consider whether he actually knew how to drive his car without powers. In the end, he caught a cab instead, after apologizing to the Bentley and explaining the situation. 

He started taking the Bentley out for very short trips while he re-learned how all the controls worked, manually. And instead of protecting it from parking violations, he took to simply plucking them off every morning before Aziraphale could see them and shoving them in a box in the back corner of the spare room. He would deal with those later. 

It was inconvenient, and it was annoying, but it was _worth_ it. But as the days passed he became very aware that he needed to get around to the conversation with Aziraphale, and soon. 

++

Aziraphale, ever the clever one, beat him to the punch. He looked up at breakfast, on day four since the wedding, and cleared his throat meaningfully. 

“My dear,” he said, “I think it’s time we had that talk you promised. I can see it’s eating at you.”

Crowley hid his initial reaction between a long swallow of his cappuccino, and quickly ran through his options for a response. More than anything, though, he knew the angel was right. They couldn’t put this off any longer. 

“Finish your tea,” he said, “and I’ll tell you everything.” 

Crowley did his best to run the angel through the entire past week, everything he did, everyone he spoke to. All that he missed. When he got to the encounter with God, he could feel Aziraphale’s intensity focused on him laser bright. He skipped over the message God had left for the angel for the moment, aware that in just a minute Aziraphale was going to be rather distracted. 

He brought the story to a rapid close with the terms of his bargain with God and then… he just sat. Fidgeting and looking anywhere but at his husband. 

“You did what?” Aziraphale said, deceptively calm. “I can’t have heard that right.” 

“I’m not sorry,” Crowley said, belligerently. 

“You gave away your powers? All of them?” the angel repeated, torn between fury and numbness. Oh good lord, the guilt was crushing. “ALL of them?”

“Angel,” Crowley said. “It was my choice. I chose it freely. I would do it again in the blink of an eye.” 

The angel leapt to his feet, hands balled in fists. 

“Why would you do such a foolish, ridiculous thing?” Aziraphale shouted. “There had to have been another way!”

“Because you were DYING,” Crowley shouted back, standing up to face him squarely. “And there WAS no other way. I tried everything. Anathema tried everything she knew too. There was no way I was going to let that happen if I could stop it.” 

“But… to bargain your life away like that…” Aziraphale stopped, panting with emotion. 

“My powers, angel, not my life,” Crowley said. “It’s inconvenient, but it’s nothing compared to losing you.” 

“Crowley –” the angel breathed. “I don’t know whether to hug you or kill you.” 

“Why not both?” Crowley quipped. 

Aziraphale eyed him balefully. It was apparently too early for jokes. 

“What are you left with?” he asked, uncurling his fists and relaxing a tad. “Do you still have wings?”

“Of course I still have wings. They’re part of my corporation and I’m still a demon.” Crowley concentrated and pulled them through. They look a little patchy, not quite as glossy black as usual, but they were there. Aziraphale nodded, satisfied, and he tucked them away. “I can still hear Freddy, which is nice – I was worried about that one, but apparently that’s based on _his_ psychic powers and not mine.”

“Can you turn into a snake anymore?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

“No,” Crowley admitted. That one hurt. “But I’m immortal. We will still have millennia together, angel. It’s not so bad.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were shining with tears. “I’m so, so angry at you,” he said. “And I’m so sad for you. And I don’t know what to do about either of those things.” 

Crowley nodded. “I know, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s mind was roiling. He was trying to not give into the terrible guilt he was feeling. Crowley, who loved nothing more than performing a miracle, gave up his gifts, for him, like they were just a meaningless trifle. It defied imagination. 

“You’d have done the same for me,” Crowley said softly, stepping towards him. “You know you would have.”

“Oh of course I would have,” Aziraphale sighed. “I know that too. Wouldn’t have even had to think about it.” 

“I don’t resent it, angel,” Crowley said, “and I won’t. Not ever. It’s just – an adjustment.” 

Aziraphale looked into his demon’s eyes, searching for a hint of doubt, of turbulence, and saw none. 

“I love you,” the angel said, grabbing the demon by the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake that rippled with underlying power. “So very much. And I’m going to find a way to fix this for you, I promise.” 

“Okay, that would be great! I hope you do.” Crowley projected sincerity with every ounce of his being, looking into the angel’s eyes. “But if you don’t, we’ll figure it out, okay?” 

Aziraphale pulled him in for a hug and tried to remember how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more, my friends! We are nearly to the end. :) Thank you so much for reading and commenting - you have no idea how much that means!


	10. Wedding Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Aziraphale throw an awesome party, a few members of Hell's secretarial pool make an appearance, and gifts are given.

Chapter 10

Spring turned into summer, and although Aziraphale continued to research and plot, manipulate energies and dig through arcane sources, they made no real progress in restoring Crowley’s lost powers. Crowley, for the most part, handled it well – he occasionally found himself instinctively snapping in response to an immediate problem before remembering that he no longer could, but one look at Aziraphale would remind him what he had done it for and why. 

The whiled the summer away traveling a little, spending long weeks out of town with Frederick (who’s house arrest was apparently over) in tow, and enjoying as many long, leisurely dinners and late morning brunches as they could. 

Crowley slowly came to the full awareness that he now had a _husband_. Despite being the one to initiate the almost shotgun-style wedding, it took a while to settle in that the angel – the same angel who curled up next to him to read all night every night, who kept trying to sneak small tartan accents into his wardrobe and claiming complete innocence when called upon it, who kept showering him in almost more love, warmth, and affection than he could handle (almost) – was now bonded to him for life. 

He liked to say the word, to himself, roll it around on his tongue. Husband, he’d whisper. Husband, husband, husband. He found he loved the sound of it. He took to calling to make reservations for them at dinner (now that he could no longer miracle the best table) and asking for a table for “my husband and I.” He occasionally interrupted a store clerk who wasn’t being attentive enough to point out that “my husband needs assistance.” He definitely took to stepping between Aziraphale and any young lovestruck fool who was eyeing him and finding a way to throw the word “husband” into the next sentence that came out of his mouth. 

Aziraphale, for his part, continued to watch and worry over Crowley during the transition from powers to no powers. He could tell sometimes that Crowley missed them, and he suspected this would become a larger issue in the winter when he couldn’t conserve body warmth by relegating himself to snake form, but he had to admit that for the most part, Crowley seemed to be doing better than he had expected with the change. He slowly found himself relaxing, fraction by fraction, as he realized that the demon was not going to change his mind about the bargain he’d made. 

“I forgot to tell you something, angel,” Crowley said one morning. “I can’t believe I forgot this, it was really important!” 

Aziraphale frowned and put down his coffee cup. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Crowley said. “It’s just something from the conversation with God.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale said. 

“She said something about you,” Crowley said, “when I said you were the best thing she’d ever created. I can’t believe I never told you this!” 

Aziraphale dimpled up ridiculously and blushed a bright pink. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured. “You said _that_ to _her_ about _me_?”

Crowley grinned. “Don’t give yourself the vapors, angel,” he said, “and anyways, it’s the truth. But my POINT is, what she said next. I asked if I could tell you because I knew you would want to hear it.”

Aziraphale found he was holding his breath. 

“She said that you had never disappointed her,” Crowley said. “Not once. Never.” 

He watched as the angel took that in, first frowning a little as he considered it, then his face cleared as Crowley watched the most phenomenal look of peace pass over him. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, giving Crowley a pleased smile. 

“Well then,” he said. “That’s just lovely to hear.” He thought for a minute. “I don’t suppose she provided it in written form so we could send a copy to that bastard Gabriel, did she?”

Crowley laughed. 

++

Soon it was August, and the date of their wedding reception rolled around. It was a perfect night for it; the champagne sparkled, the appetizers were scrumptious, and their friends gathered to share in their happiness. It appeared to be a wonderful success.

“Dudes!” came a familiar voice, as Crowley and Aziraphale were considering where and how to begin cutting the massive, four layered chocolate cake. They turned and found Rat, who had dressed up for the occasion in a slightly less dingy-looking suit and had clearly combed his ear-like points of hair until they were smooth and shiny. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” he said. “That was really decent of you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, we are very grateful to you for the help,” he said. “Seemed like the least we could do was invite you to the party.”

Crowley nodded agreeably. “We are,” he said. “Enjoy yourself!”

“I brought a couple of my friends from the secretarial pool,” Rat said, pointing off to the side behind him. “Don’t worry,” he hurried to assure them as he saw Crowley’s eyebrows go up. “They won’t do anything to cause any problems. They’re HUGE fans of the yours, man.” 

Crowley and Aziraphale followed his pointing arm to a cluster of three small, intimidated looking demons who were clustered around a single white plate and nervously poking at various appetizers as if they might be alive. When they saw Crowley looking at them, they each raised a hand and waved shyly, with smiles ranging from starstruck to terrified. 

Crowley groaned and waved back, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale was grinning at him. He bid goodbye to Rat with a pat on the arm and literally _pulled_ the angel away from the secretarial demons’ line of sight. 

“I don’t want to hear a single word about that,” he warned him. “I mean it.” 

Aziraphale giggled – he actually giggled, the bastard – but he made a locking gesture over his lips and tucked the imaginary key in his pocket. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the existence of Crowley’s fan club was something he was going to get mileage out of for years to come. He could wait. 

Crowley, knowing exactly what his spouse was thinking, pulled him out onto the dance floor to distract him. He pulled the angel close and laid a hand on the small of his back. Distraction accomplished, he thought, as the angel became soft and cuddly as they shared a couple of dances to the slower pieces that were being played. 

Soon enough Anathema came up to cut in, dancing with each of them in turn, as did other guests, and after a while Crowley found he had lost sight of the angel all together. He scanned the crowd for him and was surprised to see a very familiar shock of blond hair jumping up and down to the beat of what Aziraphale would refer to as “bebop”, near the front of the dance floor. He grinned and made his way over to wrap an arm around the angel’s waist and kiss him from behind. 

“Having fun, love?” he asked. 

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It’s almost as much fun as the gavotte!” He had ditched his suit coat somewhere, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his bow tie. He was glowing with happiness and exertion and it was all Crowley could do not to eat him like a snack. 

Second best, he decided, was to get his angel another glass of champagne. Which he did. Hydration was important, after all. 

Then Crowley found himself pulled back into the fray by Adam and his friends, and he lost sight of him again. 

++

Crowley found him a little bit later.

“Come with me,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s time.”

Aziraphale tossed back the rest of the champagne he was holding and allowed himself to be pulled out the side door and across the lawn. They moved away from the buildings and their light, and Aziraphale hand-waved a small miracle to dampen the light pollution from both the city and the full moon, so they could more easily see the sky. 

Crowley had previous laid out a large, light blanket over the soft grass, and he plopped down on it and reclined onto his elbows, patting the space between his legs. “Come here, you,” he said.  
Aziraphale smiled and settled in, leaning back with his head resting against Crowley’s chest. They both looked up at the sky – and waited. 

It wasn’t long before they saw the first one. 

“Oooooh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pointing as the first meteor appeared. “Did you see it? It was right there.”

It was the last day of the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. 

“Oh, they’re always so lovely,” Aziraphale said fondly. 

“I made them, you know,” Crowley said, quietly. “Well, I made the comet they came from.” 

“You did?” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“One of my first creations, before the fall,” he said. “It was just for practice, making a comet. Baby steps. But I always loved it the most, because it was my first.”

“And every August, its trail of debris delights the humans,” Aziraphale said with a fond smile.

“Or frightens them,” Crowley said. “But most of us know meteors are good luck, not bad. It seemed like a good omen for starting a new phase of our lives.”

They sat silently for another twenty minutes, heartbeat to heartbeat, just watching each glimmering spark streak across the sky and feeling ineffably connected.

++

“Shall we go back to our guests?” Aziraphale asked eventually.

“If we must,” Crowley said, standing up and helping Aziraphale rise. Aziraphale gave him that soft, contented smile that he loved so much, and then they turned to cross the open field back toward the lights and music. 

They’d only gone a few steps when a buzzing beam of light appeared behind them, infinitely bright. 

They spun around, and Aziraphale instinctively stepped in front of Crowley in a defensive stance. Crowley might be the creator of the two, but he was the former soldier, and he knew better to let his powerless husband get in harm’s way.

To his shock and dismay, Aziraphale was met with the large, disembodied head of the Metatron.

_"Greetings, Principality Aziraphale and Demon Crowley,"_ he said, his voice pleasant but clinical. _"I bring you tidings from the Almighty on this the celebration of your nuptials."_

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a shocked look. 

“May – may we speak with her?” Aziraphale asked.

_"To speak with me is to speak with the Almighty,"_ he replied, unflappable in his composure and certitude.

I bet this asshole just LOVES Gabriel, Crowley thought as he stepped forward to stand directly beside Aziraphale, shoulder to shoulder. He reached out and grabbed the angel’s hand. “What’s the message?” he asked.

_"The Almighty wishes you to know that she bids you joy in your union,”_ the Metatron said. _“Furthermore, she wishes you to know that she is moved by the selflessness with which you’ve both cared for each other in the light of the Demon Crowley’s altered circumstances. Your sacrifices and sincere, unselfish love have not gone unnoticed.”_

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Uh… thank you?” he said. 

_"Finally, in honor of your wedding, she wishes to offer you a nuptial gift."_

The Metatron gestured vaguely with his eyes, leading them both to look up at a small, golden object that drifted slowly down from a point unseen. It appeared to be a box, Crowley thought, as it came to rest on the grass at their feet. 

Crowley looked back at the Metatron. “What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

_“It is a gift for you both from the Almighty,_” the Metatron restated. _“Do not dawdle in opening it, children. That is all.”_

He faded away from sight.

++

They stood, staring wide-eyed at each other, then down at the golden box below them. Aziraphale, the first to recover his wits, bent down and picked it up, holding it away from his body as if he feared it might bite him. 

“Should we go open it inside?” Crowley said.

“No,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “I think we should do this alone.” He pulled Crowley back to the blanket and they sat down, side-by-side, staring at the box still held in Aziraphale’s hands.

With unspoken agreement, they both reached for the lid and pulled it open. 

A soft, golden glow filled the air, and a delicious aroma of roses became apparent. It took a moment to make out the contents against the glow, but soon Aziraphale lifted out a piece of parchment and a pair of small, golden cupcakes. 

“Cupcakes??” Aziraphale said, puzzled.

“Cupcakes are for children!” Crowley said. “Didn’t we specifically say no cupcakes?” 

“I believe we did,” Aziraphale hummed, unrolling the parchment. “’To a long and magical marriage’, it says.” 

“A what?” Crowley said distractedly, still annoyed by the cupcakes. God and her ineffable sense of humor was getting on his last nerve.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, grabbing him by the forearm with urgency. “It says to a long and _magical_ marriage.”

Crowley blinked. “You don’t think…”

“I do.”

“No.”

“What else could it possibly mean?”

“Knowing the almighty,” Crowley muttered, trying to beat down a surge of something like hope and hating himself for feeling it, “nearly anything.”

“I think,” Aziraphale said quietly, “that we had better eat them.”

Crowley’s heart began to bound. “Should we, though?” he asked, peevishly. “I mean, should we really? Isn’t this just a bit too Alice in Wonderland for you? We’re going to take a bite and find ourselves too big for the Earth or too small to exist or fall down some kind of interdimensional rabbit hole and then —”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands. “My dear,” he said softly, stilling him with his most loving look, “trust me. I have a feeling about this.”

Aziraphale had a feeling. Oh joy.

Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, his favorite sight in all the world, and noted the intensity of his trusting gaze. Every detail of the scene seemed to ingrain itself into his senses – the blue-black night sky still streaked by the quick milky spill of comets, the branches of the oak behind them susurrating in the warm breeze, the scent of crushed, warm grass beneath them, the gentle spill of music and laughter from the party on the other side of the field. The moment seemed to stretch and bend around them, infinitely, like they were poised together over a great chasm, deciding whether to fall. 

Crowley shrugged, unable to resist both his love and whatever the hell this was, and picked up one of the confections. He crossed the fingers of his other hand. 

“Ready, then?” he asked as Aziraphale did the same.

“Ready.” 

And without further delay, they each took a bite. 

Nothing happened for a moment, then Crowley felt a warmth bloom in his chest and spread through him. He felt its golden tendrils wrap around his physical being, then extend to his ethereal one. It should have burned, he thought, but instead it just felt like the most delightful touch of sunshine. It swirled through all of him and then it drifted away. 

He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. He almost looked, he thought, like he was praying. 

“Did you feel that too?” Crowley asked. 

“I did,” Aziraphale said, “but I think it was stronger for you.”

“Should I –” Crowley swallowed, unable to complete the thought. 

“Try it,” Aziraphale said gently. “Try a miracle. The worst outcome is nothing’s changed, and we’ve already gotten used to that.” 

Crowley stood and raised the hand furthest away from Aziraphale to snapping position and pulled up from the ground in his usual fashion. Something _did_ happen, but his hand emitted only a small spark rather than the flare of fire he’d been trying to raise. 

“Wait,” he said. “That doesn’t feel quite right. I’m doing something wrong.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said carefully. “I think you need to try the other direction.”

Crowley froze. “I’m a demon,” he said. “I don’t pull my powers from Above.” 

Aziraphale reached over and pulled Crowley’s now-clenched hand to his lips. “What if,” he said, “you’re something all together new?”

He placed Crowley’s hand in ready position at shoulder height and stepped back. 

Crowley took a deep breath, snapped down, and then tossed a small, sparkling firework up into the sky over them. It broke into a golden chrysanthemum shape, and tiny gold petals drifted slowly to the ground around them. 

Aziraphale gasped.

“I’m a DEMON,” Crowley repeated, desperately, feeling afraid and a little overwhelmed. “She didn’t just unfall me, did she? Because I don’t WANT that.” 

Aziraphale frowned and scanned him with his more hidden senses. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You still smell like a demon. Pull out your wings.” 

Crowley yanked his wings into their plane and Aziraphale caught his breath. They were still black and glossy, but sprinkled throughout them were tips of dove gray, just here and there, giving him a subtle, speckled appearance. 

“What is it?” Crowley asked, craning his neck. “Oh, please tell me I’m not about to start _really_ enjoying the Sound of Music for the love of –”

He caught sight of his wings and fell silent.

“Still a demon,” Aziraphale said, “or mostly so.” 

“A demon who draws his powers from Heaven?” Crowley asked. “Who’s ever heard of such a thing?”

“You’re the very first,” Aziraphale said, beaming at him. 

“What about you?” Crowley said. “What did you get?”

Aziraphale’s chin quivered with happiness. “I got _you_, fully restored, my love – what more could I possibly want?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but gently. “Wings, angel,” he said. “Let me see ‘em.”

Aziraphale obediently pulled out his wings and Crowley circled him, observing. “Yours have changed too,” he said. “There’s some dove gray here and there that wasn’t there before.” 

The angel looked thoughtful. “I wonder what it all means.”

Crowley took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his husband. “We have, by my count, approximately forever to figure it all out, love.” 

“As long as we figure it out together,” Aziraphale said. “Always.”

“Damn straight,” Crowley replied. 

++

“I think it’s time to go bid our guests good night,” Aziraphale said. “You can miracle them up an endless supply of alcohol and we shall let the youngsters keep the party going until dawn. We’ve already paid for the cleaning crew in the morning.”

Crowley smiled. “And what will we do?”

He could hear Aziraphale’s answering smile even in the dark. “I would like to go home,” he said decisively, “and lie under the skylight in the bedroom with you and watch the rest of the meteors go by.” 

“Home,” Crowley said, his heart as full as he had ever known it. “Home it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've come to the end of this massive installment of Serpent and the Seagull! This is the most plotted-out thing I've ever written, and it's really been a challenge for me - I hope you've enjoyed it! The whole story line appeared nearly instantaneously in my head just as I was finishing the flufftober prompts, and I decided to go for it because it would be fun to write something with a lot more dramatic tension. I know you found tension and cliffhangers and danger and sadness here, but I hope you also found humor and love and joy in it too. If I did my job well, you have. :)
> 
> Thank you so much to all of my long-standing (and new) readers who have read and commented and shaken their fists at me when they thought the boys weren't going to be able to work this out and threatened to banish me if any harm came to Freddy and who have also let me know that they loved and were absorbed by the story. You all are the reason I'm still writing. 
> 
> (And of course I would never leave them unbalanced or hurt the snake. I mean, come on. :) )
> 
> Also I can't even quantify the amount of thanks I owe to my writing buddy Zeckarin, who read every single chapter of this story before it was published AND talked out the early plot with me AND provided endless encouragement when I thought maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew at various points during this one. Couldn't have done it without your help! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! There will be more serpent and seagull stories coming later this year, but first I'm going to go sleep for about a week. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Fields of the Lord](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558751) by [Jasitala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasitala/pseuds/Jasitala)
  * [HE SMELLS BETTER NOW](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560797) by [Jasitala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasitala/pseuds/Jasitala)
  * [God Cupcakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563746) by [LaskasBasket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaskasBasket/pseuds/LaskasBasket)


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